Sealed
by former-burning-example
Summary: AU. Maura shares her body and mind with something deeply evil. An account of her conquering or perhaps her unraveling. Rizzles in time. Complete.
1. Obey

A/N: It might get a little dark at times, but I **promise** it won't always be miserable. T rating for the few chapters that include somewhat graphic violence.

b

* * *

...

.

 _We are sealed, you and me._

 _._

 **12 Hours Ago**

...

" _It was an accident. I swear to god she came outta nowhere." He stumbles over his words, breath tinged with something strong. She steels herself, taking in shallow breaths of murky air. The flames raging behind them engulf the silver sedan and leap through the smoke to lick the night sky. Her spine tingles, but she pays no mind to the danger behind. A life hangs in the balance._

 _She pushes her cell phone into the driver's hands, voice low and commanding: "Call an ambulance."_

 _She kneels in the rocky earth off the shoulder of the road. The woman is sprawled grotesquely, eyes open but seeing nothing. It's too late. The air is hot, and the smell of burning rubber hangs deeply in her lungs. Despite the futility, she applies pressure to the gaping wound bisecting the woman's abdomen. It's for nothing, she knows, but she_ _ **has** __to try. She cannot let herself do nothing._

" _What're you doing?" the man asks, words tangled as she peels off her blazer and presses it to the woman's midsection._

" _Trying to stop the bleeding," she mutters, before narrowing her eyes, "Ambulance?"_

 _He holds the phone in the air and takes a few steps back, shaking his head, "Can't getta signal."_

" _Dammit," she whispers, gaze dropping back to the woman beneath her hands. She reaches up and brushes a curly red lock from the woman's disfigured face. She imagines she must have been beautiful and kind._ ** _Before_** _. Sorrow pangs deep in her stomach as blood begins to seep through her blazer, staining her fingertips. A life is fading, and there's nothing she can do about it._

" _Goodbye," she whispers._

" _One bar!" the man shouts, but the sound quickly dies in his throat as the screen goes black in his hands. "It's dead."_

 _It's hopeless, and she knows it. The woman dies within minutes._

 _She stands, blood dripping from her fingertips landing on the asphalt. Her hands grow heavy with the dead weight of unresponsive nerves. She feels that familiar cloud prick her skin in angry flares that trap her. Her body moves, dragging her behind._

 _[Him.]_

 _The driver holds his hands out in front of him to create a barrier as she charges, "Whoa, hold on! What're you doing?"_

" _You killed her," she seethes. "She's dead." She is forced to listen to words that are not her own. To watch as her body moves on without her._

" _It was an accident! I didn't see her!"_

 _He turns to flee, but her hand shoots out, each slender finger taking its turn seizing his throat. Immobilized, his fate hangs in the air above him._

 _[Now.]_

 _She has no choice but to obey._

" _HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!" he screams, but there is no one around for miles. She grunts as he tries to break from her grasp. He's much stronger but drunk and injured from the crash. She has the upper-hand._

 _She collapses him, landing a solid kick to the back of the knee._

" _PLEASE! PLEASE! HELP ME!" He's on his knees before her, facing the wreckage. Facing the corpse of the woman he has murdered. She hears none of his cries._

 _[Do.]_

 _He struggles to stand, but she holds him to the ground. The heel of her hand slams into the crown of his head, dazing him. He cannot escape. "Look," she says, barely whispering. She is angry. She is livid._

 _She is murderous._

" _Look at what you've done."_

" _I'm sorry. Please!"_

 _[Now.]_

 _Her body moves without her consent, a feeling she knows well. She lets it happen. She has to. She doesn't fight it. Not now._

 _Never again._

 _She feels her fingers grab his chin roughly. In the back of her head, she registers the wetness that falls from his eyes onto her hand. Her left hand crosses over her right behind his head, fingers curling and finding a hold in the small gap between the mandible and the temporal bone just behind the ear. His thick bones and sharp jaw rough with stubble beneath her fingertips tell her that before the drinking, he must have been quite handsome. What a waste._

 _[ **Now.** ]_

 _She simply watches as her body moves all on its own. She takes a step inward and rips her arms in opposite directions._

 _It's not the scream._

 _It's not the sickening crack that resonates through the air long after it's done._

 _It's not the thought of severing the spinal cord._

 _It's the whimpering after. The aftershocks and sounds of one damned. Of course, she knows this will not kill him. She is, after all, a doctor. No, his body will kill itself in time. Paralysis of the respiratory nerves and dilation of blood vessels will result in a fatal drop in blood pressure. After that, well, she is no longer required to finish the job._

 _Control floods back through her body, and she shoves the driver away immediately. He hits the ground with a dull thud, but the doctor isn't far behind. She stumbles and sways on her feet, extremely light-headed. She loses her balance and smacks her head on the asphalt._

 _He's gone._

 _[Good.]_

…

..

 **Present Time**

.

The doctor sleeps for three days. For seventy-two hours she doesn't stir, doesn't wake, doesn't eat. For seventy-two hours, she rests, not that she has much of a choice. For it is not her who needs revitalization. It's all for _Her_. The whisper in her head. The icy fingers that weave into the very depths of her brain. The cloud forever fogging her full awareness of the world around her.

As powerful as _She_ is, _She_ cannot control the doctor for longer than a few moments. An hour at most. But in those moments, the doctor is _Hers_. No defiance. No protest. Nothing.

But the doctor doesn't notice. She's been this way all her life.

[Get up.]

Eyes snapping open, the doctor returns from a world of colorful dreams chased by tinges of threadlike darkness. There is no escape. Not even in sleep. _She_ is always there.

[Eat.]

Though not controlled, the doctor obeys. She slides out of bed and pads on unsteady feet to the kitchen. Upon investigation of her pantry, she comes up with nothing. She hasn't been to the store in over a month. There is no food left, though something tells her she hasn't eaten in much longer than three days.

[Eat later.]

Of course, she agrees. There's no other option. On her way back to the bedroom, she passes a mirror. The air vanishes from her lungs as she turns slowly. The creature staring back at her is not one she recognizes. Wild, bloodshot eyes look back from a sallow face splattered with the reddish-brown stain of blood. Her hair hangs lower than she remembers, and it's darker too. The doctor runs her hand through her hair, wincing as her fingers brush a large knot.

She is confused. _What happened?_

[Nothing.]

 _This isn't nothing. I'm covered in blood._

All at once, her hands fly to her head as she screams and sinks to the ground. Her mouth fills with a metallic taste. A fire poker drives right between her eyes. Daggers ram into her temples. Razors blend her frontal lobe. She writhes on the floor caught somewhere between agony and anguish that only advances even further in unrelenting waves.

White-hot. Vibrant red.

White.

Red.

White.

Red.

Black.

[Enough.]

And just as quickly as it had begun, the pain subsides, leaving no evidence it ever existed. The doctor gets to her feet, disoriented, but altogether pain-free.

[Nothing.]

 _Nothing._

[Sleep.]

The doctor obeys.

…

The doctor awakens in darkness. She sits up, confused and famished.

[Get up.]

Another trip to the kitchen concludes what she's known since the last time she checked: there is no food. Desperate, she glances at the door.

 _Market._

[Eat.]

"Eat what?" she asks out loud.

Her head turns until she is looking directly at the stainless steel trash can. Her stomach turns, and she shakes her head. "I can just run out and pick something up."

[Rest. Eat here. Rest.]

 _But it's trash. I ca—_

It's too late. She starts toward the trash can with slow and heavy steps. _She_ is weak. _She_ can barely control the doctor, but control is control all the same. She removes the top of the trash can and peers inside. The trash hasn't been taken out in weeks, and somewhere inside her, she registers evidence of maggots and other larvae.

"Please, no!" she begs.

[Eat. Rest.]

She reaches into the trash and pulls out an apple core, brown and rotted. The doctor fights _Her_ with everything she has, but _She_ is strong. So much stronger than anything the doctor knows.

[Eat. Rest.]

The doctor brings the rotten core to her mouth, teeth sinking into the fuzzy growth. It tastes earthy and of how geraniums smell. She gags and coughs and tears fill her eyes, but she takes another bite. She has no choice. Her teeth gnaw off chunks of the dense core and chew until it's nothing but a runny mess in her mouth. Only then does her body allow her to swallow.

 _She_ lets her go.

The doctor vomits.

[Rest.]

…

The distant barking of dogs rouses the doctor from sleep two days later. She is starved, gaunt, and ghost-like. She sits up and makes her way to the bathroom, careful not to do anything too suddenly.

 _Are you sleeping?_

[Here.]

"I have to work today."

[Know. Work. Eat. Home. Rest. Yes.]

"Thank you," she says, turning on the shower ready to wash the entirety of the past week down the drain. To watch the blood, vomit, and filth circle the drain. She sheds her clothes, or at least what's left of them, and steps into the warm spray. The hot water soothes the tense muscles in her back far more than five days of sleep have.

[You. Good.]

 _Thank you._

[You… good.]

 _I don't understand._

[Good.]

...

The doctor returns to work for the first time in a week. Before the commute to work, she'd spoken on the phone with Dr. Tierney, her boss who seemed all-too-thrilled his "favorite medical examiner" had beaten a rather nasty strain of influenza. So thrilled, Dr. Tierney didn't seem to notice the call took place forty-five minutes into the workday.

She swipes her ID card through the checkpoint in the lobby of the Boston Police Department and smiles at a group of detectives as she passes. One of them‒ Detective Frost, she believes‒ follows after her.

"Dr. Isles," he says, jogging a little to catch up with her. "You alright?"

"Of course," she answers. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you kinda went AWOL last week in the middle of the investigation. We were… worried."

She busies herself with clipping her ID to her purse, "I'd fallen ill."

"So sick you couldn't pick up your phone?"

She shrugs, "I must have misplaced my phone." It's true. She hasn't seen it since… since she can last remember.

" _You?_ Misplaced? Are you alright Dr. Isles?" he asks genuinely. She has worked with Frost on a number of murder investigations. He is patient and thorough and doesn't seem to mind her meticulous methods. She might dare call him an acquaintance.

"Yes, I'm fine." She is flustered, and the detective can tell.

He lowers his voice, "Are you sure, Maura?"

His use of her first name jars her. She prefers her title. Cold professionalism. Something she's certain she's guilty of hiding behind. She clears her throat quietly, "Yes, Detective. I was just feeling a little under the weather, but I'm better now. Okay? Nothing to worry about." She leaves him in the middle of the lobby and takes the elevator downstairs.

 _See what you're doing? I can't be gone like that again. Not again. It draws too much attention._

[Fine.]

 _I mean it._

[Yes.]

The doctor pushes into her office, ready to throw herself back into her work. It seems just about the only time _She_ makes herself scarce. Paperwork and excisions seem to bore _Her._

She takes her seat behind her desk and draws in a deep breath. She's done something… Something awful. She can't recall much of anything, but the blood covering her hands when she had first awoken was undeniable. Someone else's blood was all over her, and she could only hope _She_ had not done something unforgivable.

 _Please try to control yourself._

[Yes. Fine.]

"Thank you," she says, glancing around to make sure she's alone.

[Work.]

And she does.


	2. Lucero

The doctor does not hear from _Her._ She waits on edge, but _She_ is silent. Dormant. Unsure of what to do, the doctor finds comfort in her daily routine. She cleans. Everything. Each and every room in her house, every surface, every crevice. And when she is finished, she does it again just to make sure. She is content.

One day she collects herself enough to make a trip to the grocery store. The doctor does not fare well in stores. Not with strangers at every turn with the desire to strike up a conversation in the pasta aisle.

The doctor keeps her head down and fills her cart with non-perishable staples. She does not want to make the mistake of buying temporary food should _She_ return. She pushes her cart into the soup aisle and contemplates cans of tomato and chicken noodle before setting them both in her cart.

"Excuse me," an elderly voice says from behind her. She stiffens, nerves ignited.

 _Please, no._

"Excuse me, dear?"

The doctor glances around the aisle, trying hopelessly to spot _anyone_ else the woman could be talking to.

She freezes.

Not because the elderly woman is still trying to get her attention. Not because the can of tomato soup has fallen from her hands. Not because her body cannot seem to remember respiration.

But certainly because her eyes have found their polar opposites on the far end of the aisle. Certainly because impossibly dark orbs drive into her skull and wrap around her spine in heated tendrils. Certainly because…

"Dear?" the older woman calls again, but the word enters her ears as a heavy clump of consonants. Held fast with brown eyes and a smug, upturned smile, the doctor is immobilized. She breaks her eyes away from the woman's face, embarrassed, flustered, yet inclined to continue. She finds her eyes following the zipper track down a long torso, stopping briefly when she reaches up to retrieve a box of crackers from the top shelf. The gap of tanned skin between her sweatshirt and low-slung jeans captures the doctor's undivided attention. And no matter how hard she tries, she cannot find it in herself to look away.

The doctor is mesmerized.

There's so much more to take in, but not enough time. The woman adds the box of crackers into her cart, sweatshirt sliding back into place. Realizing her blatant staring, the doctor snaps her eyes back to the woman's face and attempts to meet her gaze once again.

Amused features send the doctor fleeing inside herself, ashamed of her undisguised gaping. The dark-haired woman was well-aware of her wandering eyes, Subtlety is a foreign concept to the doctor, and never before has she regretted her curious nature. She has trapped herself in a hole there's no climbing out of.

 _She's laughing at me._

Mortified, all she wants to do is run, but something in the woman's face keeps her rooted. Her quiet laughter holds no mean spirit, just genuine amusement. She is an enigma dressed in a ratty sweatshirt and torn jeans.

The woman smirks again and nods at her as a motioning of sorts. It confuses the doctor until the shrill voice from behind her pulls the realization into her head. She turns slowly, unable to will a smile across her face. The elderly woman looks taken aback by her blank expression but still takes no hint to leave. Instead, she pulls a list from her purse and holds it out to the doctor.

"I seem to have left my glasses at home. Would you mind terribly helping me out?"

The lady goes on, but the doctor hears none of her words. She hears nothing but the rise and fall in tone over the sound of her own heart as it quickens in pace. She does not know this woman. She can't move.

 _What do you want from me?_

"Dear? Can you hear me?"

The doctor simply tilts her head, willing the woman to let her be. Just let her finish her shopping in peace.

"Can you HEAR ME?"

She sets another can of soup in her cart and looks hopefully at the woman. She cannot even form the words to voice her plea.

 _Go away, please._

"Alright, I'll find someone else. Sorry to bother you, dear." And with that, the woman vanishes around the corner.

The doctor pushes her cart down the aisle and adds varieties of soups that catch her eye. She has never heard of cream of celery or any of the vast selections including bacon. She is amazed as well as repulsed, all the while avoiding the piercing stare of the dark-haired woman watching her.

She keeps her head down as she pushes out of the aisle and heads for checkout without so much as another glance at the woman in fear of what she might do.

What she might say.

The man in front of her talks openly on his cell phone about some kind of sporting event the doctor is unfamiliar with, nor does she care. She desires nothing more than the safety of her home, or at the very least, her car.

"I can help who's next in line," the cashier announces from the next register over, and the doctor begins to unload her cart.

"Need a hand with that?" the man behind her asks. He doesn't wait for her answer before he starts to take contents from her cart.

"N-no, it's okay. I can do it," she tries to say, but the words don't come out right. And coupled with the flailing state of her arms, she's caught more attention than she ever wanted.

"Are you alright?" he asks, reaching out to steady her, but she reads it wrong and flinches away from his hand. "Miss? Are you okay?"

The doctor doesn't know what she is or isn't. She just feels dozens of curious eyes trained on her. She wonders idly if some miracle of science might spontaneously dissolve her. Anything but this horrible frozen state.

 _Please don't look at me!_

She stares straight ahead of her at the cart return and wills everyone around her to focus on _anything_ else. She knows this is entirely impossible. Somehow she's managed to get all eyes on her, and the longer her silence drags out, the greater the scene she makes, but she can't seem to get her body to move.

"Ma'am?" the cashier tries, "Ma'am, is everything okay?"

 _Make it stop._

 _Please…_

Then suddenly, she feels light pressure on her lower back. She jumps at the contact but allows the hand to guide her out of the checkout line.

She hears: "It's okay."

She hears: "You're okay."

She hears: "Go. I'll handle this."

Blindly obeying, she hurries for the door, happy to escape focus, but her curiosity gets the better of her when she sneaks a look over her shoulder at her savior. Dark eyes hold hers for a brief moment before she rushes out the door.

…

She doesn't know whether she should wait in or outside her car. And the longer she waits, the more she fears she's waiting for no one. It occurs to her this woman might not even exist. Though deeply rare, the doctor is aware of her history of past delusions but never before has she hallucinated something‒ someone‒ so _real_. She _felt_ the woman's hand press gently but firmly to her back as she led the doctor out of the line. Out of focus. Away from the eyes.

And just before she gives up waiting, the woman emerges from the store pushing one cart in front of her while towing another behind. She spots the doctor waiting beside her car and hurries over.

"I'm sorry it took so long. I paid for yours, then they made me wait in line again to pay for mine. But here," she says motioning to the doctor's groceries. "You gotta lot of canned foods… Preparing for nuclear war? Zombie apocalypse?"

 _Something like it._

"N-no, and thank you," she manages to blurt out, but once again, her words don't leave her mouth coherently. She sounds like a toddler struggling to communicate.

"Here, pop the trunk. I'll load them for you."

The doctor doesn't move, doesn't "pop" the trunk, but instead simply stares at the woman taking in the details of her angular face. Back in the store, she'd been so fixated on her long, slender body, she'd completely missed out on just how _marvelous_ the woman truly is. Regal cheekbones well-complimented with her careless, crooked grin and that wild hair. The dark curls seemed to have minds all their own, sticking out in every direction, no doubt evading all attempts at containment. Her dark eyes seemed to have toned themselves down since their last meeting. The doctor feels herself easing.

"I'm Jane by the way." She offers her hand.

The doctor looks at the extended hand for far longer than the appropriate time to prolong a handshake. She still cannot recall quite how to move in this woman's presence.

Jane drops her hand to her side, "Okay, that's fair enough. Just let me load these for you, and I'll be on my way."

She doesn't know what to say, so she just repeats herself dumbly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome…"

"Maura," she blurts without thinking. Surely if her brain had back her words, she would have introduced herself formally as Dr. Isles. Her first name fell from her mouth with friendly intentions, but the doctor still isn't quite sure how she wants to come off.

"Maura," Jane echoes back as if vocalizing the name would commit it to memory. As if they'd meet again, and she'd need it. "Okay, Maura. Mind popping the trunk?"

The doctor presses the button on her key fob, and Jane gets to work loading her bags for her. While she lifts a particularly heavy one, the doctor watches the hard muscles in her toned arms flex and release, marveling at her strength.

Jane shuts the trunk and brushes her hands off on each other as if ridding herself of imaginary dirt, "That should do it."

"Thank you," is all the doctor can think to say. Her extensive vocabulary has been temporarily filtered, and anything intelligent to say has been blocked. "Thank you."

"You're welcome… again." She runs a hand through her thick hair and laughs a little at the wide-eyed doctor before her face falls into a serious mask, "Are you okay?"

" _Are you okay?"_

The doctor loathes the question.

 _No, I am not okay. I hear voices and see things that are not there. I am afraid. I do things I cannot remember. I lose time. Hours, days, even weeks. Sometimes I disappear._

Of course, she'd never tell Jane these things. Not her or anyone. She knows only little of social cues, but what goes on inside her head, she knows, is not taken lightly by others. She doesn't want to frighten them with something that is so clearly _nothing_. Surely there's nothing _wrong_ , just a little _off_ sometimes. Nothing she can't deal with all on her own.

"Maura?"

"Yes?"

"Nothing, you just seemed a little zoned out."

"Oh, no, I was just thinking."

Jane shoves her hands into her pockets, "I know this is kinda strange, but do you maybe wanna grab a cup of coffee or something?"

"Why?" The word breaks through her teeth before she can get a handle on it. And by the way Jane flinches, she knows she's messed up. "No… I didn't mean… I just…" she trails off.

"No, it's fine. It was a little out there, but I get it. I just thought I might ask." She starts to push her cart away.

"Wait!" Yet another word to fly out of her mouth without consent. She does not know where her filter has gone.

"Yeah?"

She takes in a deep breath, readying herself for words she's certain she's never spoken: "Coffee would be wonderful."

…

"You're kidding me. Not even once?"

The doctor frowns a little as she tries to find a reason. There isn't a good one. Not really. Shrugging, she takes another sip of her coffee.

"I can't believe it."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know a single person who hasn't been trick-or-treating, or at least handed out candy."

The doctor's frown deepens, "As a child, I remember wanting to, but it was never really an option."

"Why not?"

"I traveled overseas frequently with my mother. It was rare to spend the fall in the states, and even when we did… I didn't want to bother her with something so silly."

Jane nods in understanding. She turns the mug in her hands as her eyes flick up, "And your father?"

The doctor hesitates. She feels her shoulder blades press into the booth behind her. Her eyes fall on the door.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Jane says, pulling her gaze back, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable… I guess I'm just curious."

The doctor draws her hands back toward the edge of the table and relents, slowly dropping her eyes. "No, it's not you. I seem to be a little out of sorts lately… You asked about my father, and the truth is, I didn't know him well. He took a teaching position in California when I was ten, and before that, he was often away on business." For Jane's sake, she gives her the easy version.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was a long time ago."

It's quiet for a few beats, and while a fan of silence herself, even the doctor recognizes the strange weight in the air. It occurs to her that maybe she should have grazed over the topic of her parents altogether. Her goal certainly was not to make Jane feel sorry for her.

"I still think every kid should experience Halloween at least once," Jane says, lightening the mood a bit. She leans back in the booth, comfortable as can be.

"I'm afraid it might be a little too late for me."

Jane shrugs, "Maybe you can take your kids."

"Oh, no," the doctor says, gripping her coffee cup tighter, "I don't have children."

"Then maybe your future kids," she says, flashing a grin that ties the doctor in knots. The idea of having children is almost laughable to the doctor. How could she possibly raise a child? She's not exactly the maternal type.

"Do you have children?" she asks, immediately regretting it when she sees Jane tense infinitesimally.

"I…"

"I'm sorry, it's none of my b‒"

"No, no, it's just… I have two daughters." The doctor's eyes flicker to Jane's left hand. What it accomplishes, she is unsure, but something inside her eases a fraction at the absence of a ring.

"What are their names?" The doctor hears her own voice trying so hard to be friendly. It should be easy. She shouldn't be _struggling_ so much.

Jane traces a contemplative circle on her coffee mug with her thumb as if deciding whether or not to share with the woman across from her. Fearing her intrusiveness, the doctor withdraws: "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to say that," Jane says honestly, "you're not doing anything wrong. It's just," she leans forward on her elbows and drops her head into her hands.

The doctor is at a complete loss. She knows nothing of consoling or comforting others, but the notion of remaining silent unsettles her. She needs to try.

"It's just what?" she asks, trying her best not to sound trite or pitying.

Jane looks up, brown eyes reflecting a deep thoughtfulness, "I've been away."

"Away?"

"Yes, _away_ ," she says sharply. The doctor flinches and Jane sighs apologetically, "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," the doctor replies, maybe a bit too quickly. She feels desperate for some reason.

A few moments pass without another word from either woman. The doctor considers taking out her new cell phone and scrolling through everything and nothing just so she can have a crutch, but she can't make herself reach for her purse.

Then suddenly: "Sophie and Charly."

The doctor knows exactly what she means, but is unable to think of anything else to say. It results in her blurting out the first word that comes to her.

"What?"

"My daughters. Twins actually."

"Charly?"

Jane smiles a little, "Charlotte, but she hates it."

"Charlotte is a lovely name."

"Try telling that to a four-year-old," Jane jokes, but the doctor sees further into the woman than she realizes. She knows enough about people to see there's something more. "I have pictures. Wanna see?"

"Please."

Jane fishes her cell out of her pocket and hits a few buttons before handing it over. The doctor takes the phone carefully. They are absolutely identical, clones even, and carbon copies of their mother.

Jane points to the smiling girl on the right, "That's Charly, and the sour puss over there is Sophie."

Both girls are dressed identically in purple jumpers and shiny dress shoes complete with white frilly socks. The doctor has never seen anything so precious in all her life.

"They are beautiful." She passes the phone back.

"Thank you," Jane locks and pockets it. "My mother took that picture. They've been staying with her while I've been away. I was going to surprise them tonight with dinner… I just got back."

"I'm sure they will be overjoyed to see you."

Jane glances at the time, "Speaking of, I should really get going."

"Yes, of course. I wouldn't want to keep you."

The woman gets up but hesitates before walking away. She turns back to the doctor, smiling almost shyly, "Do you maybe wanna do this again sometime?"

 _Yes._

 _But…_

She realizes this woman is putting herself out on a limb just asking. Jane looks so _unsure_ , something the doctor just knows cannot be a common occurrence.

"That would be wonderful," she hears herself say. She no longer considers Jane a stranger, not after the hour they have just spent talking openly. Though quiet and reluctant, the doctor spoke a bit about herself, something that she has never dared try. But something in Jane made her feel safe enough to speak. She was patient with her, waiting unabatingly as the doctor collected and gained strength in her own words. Jane probably doesn't have a clue how far her kindness has reached into the doctor's heart.

"Alright, cool," she hands back her cell phone, confidence back in full swing, "just put your number in, and I'll text you."

The doctor does so, feeling the blood rise a little more into her face with each keystroke. Is it possible? Has she made a friend?

"I'll see you around, Maura."

Long after Jane leaves the diner, the doctor pushes her coffee mug away from herself and smiles at no one.

"Goodbye, Jane," she whispers.

…

The doctor returns to work the next day with newfound hope. She excises organs and sorts through stomach contents with a misplaced smile on her face. Her job is to its usual caliber, unfortunate victims of death in need of time and cause of death. Despite her joyfulness, she still takes extra measures to ensure each corpse is thoroughly examined with respect and care.

But her happiness does not come from serving the dead. Not completely.

She has a friend.

A real friend. Or at least someone with the potential to _be_ a friend. It's all new and exciting to the doctor. She wants nothing but to bask in this feeling forever.

This does not happen.

…

A summer thunderstorm wakes the doctor in the middle of the night. She sits up abruptly and intakes a sharp breath of air as thunder rips through the air outside. Back pressed against the headboard, she draws her knees into her chest and covers her ears.

She is frightened.

She is alone.

As a child, thunderstorms drove her into closets, hiding beneath coats and crying until her body just shut off. She would wake hours later sometimes in her own bed, her nanny, Rosa, dozing in a chair beside her. She would crawl into Rosa's lap and allow herself to be comforted long after the storm passed.

But she no longer has Rosa, and with her died any shred of comfort for the doctor.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay," she whispers almost bitterly into the darkness. It was Rosa who had taught to talk herself through the storms when she couldn't have been more than three years old. They would say it together slowly until the storm petered out.

"Oh, _lucero_. It's okay. Don't cry."

The doctor jumps at the sound of the voice. It sounded so close, she could never mistake it. She had grown up with that warm voice guiding her.

"Don't cry, baby."

She jumps again, this time, certain it wasn't just her imagination. The doctor lifts her head and opens her eyes halfway. Her heart sinks as she finds her bedroom empty.

" _Lucero,_ say it with me. _T_ _ú sabes las palabras._ "

" _You know the words."_

She shakes her head. The words are more hollow now than they have ever been. She can't even begin to try.

"Where are you?"

"Go back to sleep," the voice soothes.

"Rosa… please, don't," she slides out of bed and rushes for the light switch. "Please," the light flicks on, but her room is empty. Her heart sinks as she shuts off the light and returns to bed, "Don't leave me."

She lets her eyes fall shut. She can almost feel Rosa's hands– made rough from years of work– brush the hair from her eyes.

"Goodnight, _lucero._ "

…

Three days after the thunderstorm, the doctor's phone illuminates with a message from an unknown number. She is in autopsy and doesn't see the message until nearly an hour after it is sent.

Her mind is still on the Y-incision when she sinks into her office chair, attempting to decompress. This week has been filled to the brim with autopsies. So many, they had to call in two additional medical examiners to assist– Drs. Papov and Pike. Their help is essential, but she finds herself uncomfortable with Pike's methods. It makes the doctor wish she had the energy to do it all herself. She cannot hover over Pike to make sure he does everything just so. She has to _trust_ that he won't ruin everything. And that alone is exhausting.

She reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out her cell phone. She's been waiting all day for a report from Erin Volchko, their hair and fiber specialist. One of the only instances where Dr. Pike has proven useful was when he found what the doctor believed to be a tarp fiber trapped beneath the victim's fingernails. But like everyone else, she would have to wait for Erin to do what she does best.

The doctor unlocks her phone and starts to check her email when the little red message insignia catches her eye. At first, she is confused. She doesn't use her cell phone for anything but reading emails and calling the occasional cab. She opens the message and waits on edge as it loads and rights itself on her screen.

' _Hey, Maura. It's Jane. Remember me? I was wondering if you had plans tonight. I'm free for dinner/drinks/coffee/whatever. Let me know.'_

All at once the doctor feels activated. Not for a moment did she let herself forget about her supermarket savior. And to think, she wasn't going to bother with that grocery store, almost opting for the Whole Foods Market instead. Her luck… no, the odds were astounding.

' _I would love to. Whatever you would like is fine with me.'_

Jane texts back almost immediately, the vibration of her phone sending an anticipatory shock down the doctor's spine.

' _Meet me at that diner at 8?'_

The doctor can barely hear her own thoughts over the sudden acceleration of her heart. Her body buzzes with excitement she didn't even know she possessed.

' _I'll see you there.'_

She sets her phone down on her desk and stares at it for quite some time, only stopping as Erin's name crosses the top of the screen with her electronic test results. It's time to get back to work, and the doctor returns to her makeshift team, ready to conquer anything.


	3. Niemand

Jane does not show up at eight.

The diner is quiet and sparsely populated with singles like herself. The radio plays softly through the overhead speakers, more static than actual music. On the far wall, the weather report flickers on a muted TV.

The doctor waits patiently, nursing the iced tea she had caved and purchased around eight fifteen, and with each passing minute, she feels her heart sinking deeper. She feels a little foolish. Surely a woman like Jane has better things to do than spend an evening with her. Regardless, she checks her phone obsessively, but it's all for nothing. Jane does not call or text, and the doctor would not _dare_ send a message first.

She begins to wonder if it was all a trick. How pathetic she must look. A woman so _clearly_ waiting for someone, so clearly counting out the seconds in her head. It is times like these when the doctor wishes she had even a sliver of confidence in the presence of strangers. She wishes she could wait for someone without looking so desperate and awkward.

Deciding she has already waited as long as she can bear, she places a few crisp dollar bills on the table for the waitress and gets up to leave. She cannot deny the despair twisting her stomach or the ridiculous pressure of tears behind her eyes. She doesn't understand why she is so gullible and weak.

Jane seemed so sincere.

"Have a good night," one of the waitresses calls as she makes her way to the exit with her head down. She manages a small smile at the woman before hurrying to her car, climbing in, and sealing the world away.

Her fingers wrap tightly around the steering wheel as she swallows the lump in her throat. She doesn't have to be an expert on people to understand she's been stood up, but that does nothing to stop her from dissecting everything. All the things she did or didn't do. The little things she said or should have said that would have made Jane want to show up tonight.

Her analysis brings her to a rather grim conclusion, but she's certain it's the right one: Jane wants nothing to do with her.

…

.

 **Three Days Later**

.

"Of course, she didn't show up, darling. Why would she bother?"

The doctor stands in her bathroom, gripping the counter with her eyes screwed shut. She hears her mother's voice so closely. It's cold and sharp just like she remembers, but it isn't real. Her mother certainly is _not_ standing in her bathroom.

"Oh! You thought she liked you? You poor soul. You see? That's why I told you not to open yourself up so easily. You barely know this woman, yet you're throwing yourself at her."

"I wanted a friend," she mutters, indulging the delusion.

"Don't mope, darling. You sound pathetic."

"Stop it!" she demands through her teeth, "Stop it! You're not here."

"That's no way to speak to your mother," a deeper voice cuts in.

"Daddy?" she opens her eyes, momentarily forgetting her parents are not really with her. They aren't in her house just as much as they aren't anywhere else in the world.

Her bathroom is empty.

She is alone. Completely alone.

The doctor glares at her reflection in the mirror, angry with the red rims and dark circles painting her eyes a dark shade of misery. Beside her exhausted reflection smirks the collected one of her mother. Hair perfect, eyes bright, not a wrinkle to adorn her should-be aged face.

"You always make yourself so young," she remarks. "Are you so vain you can't accept the truth."

"You make me young, darling. You see me how you please. Don't like it? Then do something about it."

The doctor accepts the challenge and squints her eyes, imagining thirty years of galas and edgy artwork wearing on her mother's pristine features. And right before her eyes, her mother's skin begins to sag, eyes cloud, hair loses pigmentation. It should be satisfying, but the doctor is well aware of the sheer absurdity of it all. Her mother is anywhere but her bathroom.

"Better, darling?" Constance asks, eyebrow raised as she watches her daughter sink to the floor tiles, bury her face in her hands, and attempt to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. Though the doctor would never admit it, it's all becoming too much for her. Not just Jane's absence three days ago, but the ongoing investigation at work. Dr. Pike ruins everything he touches, wanting to introduce unapproved new tools and procedures to the lab that always end up setting them back weeks. For the third time today, she considers taking a leave of absence until Pike returns to Connecticut for good.

But then what would serve as her distraction?

"Darling, you shouldn't cry. You know how red you get when you cry."

She was not crying before, but now she lets the tears fall just to spite her dead mother.

…

The next day, the doctor's phone illuminates with a message from an unknown number, but this time, it catches her attention right away. For the past four hours, she has been trying to get a handle of the growing pile of paperwork at her desk, all the while re-doing most of Pike's reports as they were not up to the standard of this office. Not to mention the fact that she doesn't want him anywhere near Tierney's filing system.

She shakes a cramp out of her hand and picks up her phone.

' _Call me. -J'_

The doctor stares at the message until the screen goes to sleep in her hand. She is not quite sure she wants to subject herself to the array of feelings that seem attached to this woman. Without even trying, Jane had brought her great happiness but greater sorrow.

The number the message was sent from is different from the one Jane had used before, and she wonders briefly if there is something more to that. She reads the short message over and over until the words mean almost nothing. Just a string of the alphabet. Yes, she wants a friend or even just someone to talk to, but does she really want to let herself get pulled in with such risk? Can she trust Jane to dust her off?

Should she give her another chance? Let her explain?

But what if there wasn't an excuse, no matter proved more pressing? What if Jane just decided that the doctor was not worth her time and didn't show up?

The curiosity burns through her limbs, licking at her brain, wearing away at her resistance. Giving in to her own desire to see her again, the doctor presses the call icon and holds the phone to her ear, glancing around to make sure no one is lurking nearby. It rings twice before Jane picks it up.

"Maura?" Jane says, sounding genuinely surprised. She doesn't know what to say, so she simply waits for Jane to do the talking. "I'm so so sorry. I can't even begin to tell you… Are you there?"

"I'm here."

"I don't wanna do this over the phone. Can I see you?"

"Jane… I don't understand."

"Can you meet me somewhere?" she asks, her voice quiet but firm.

The doctor pulls the phone away from her ear and watches the seconds add up on the call log. Could she trust Jane to show up this time? Would she risk the humiliation of waiting half the night only to be stood up again?

"Where?" she asks, shoving away her fears. Overthinking everything has never helped her before. She figures forcing herself to stop is a step in the right direction.

There is muffled talking on the other end of the line like Jane is doing a bad job covering the receiver. "...okay, okay, but _stop_ hitting your sister. Sorry," she says to the doctor, "I promised my girls I'd take them to McDonald's. I could meet you somewhere else, but I've got the girls all evening."

 _McDonald's…?_

"No, that's fine," she says, trying to keep her smile out of her words. The doctor is not entirely sure what McDonald's is. Of course, she's heard of it. It just never occurred to her that she might actually go near one.

"Great, we'll be waiting. I promise, this time… and I'm sorry. Again."

The doctor hangs up and slides her phone into her purse. The idea of seeing Jane again speeds her stride to the elevator. She makes it about ten feet before a nervous-looking lab tech approaches her.

"Dr. Isles?"

"Yes…?"

"Oh. Chang. Senior Criminalist Chang."

 _Right, I knew that… Susie Chang._

"What can I do for you?"

"Detective Frost wanted me to give you this," Susie says so quickly, the doctor has to take a moment to register the woman's words. She is handed a small, white business card.

"What's this?"

Susie pushes up her glasses and readjusts her hold on the clipboard in her hands, "I believe it's his cell phone number, he didn't say anything about it. Just that I make sure you get it, and now you have it so…" Susie takes a few awkward steps back, "Goodnight, Dr. Isles."

Unsure of why Detective Frost felt the need to give her his number, the doctor contemplates asking him about it, but after a moment, she thinks better of it. Besides, she has somewhere to be.

…

Within five minutes, the doctor decides she does not like McDonald's. She sits across from Jane at a table she suspects harbors a plethora of different bacteria. As if that is not enough to put the doctor so far out of her comfort zone: the squeals of young children echo through the fishbowl named the Play Place, forcing a whole new world on her. A noisy, unpleasant one at that.

"Sorry it's so loud. I try to avoid this place as much as I can, but they wore me down."

As if on cue, a little girl lets out a blood-curdling scream, adding to the happy shrieks and the occasional meltdown in the disorder surrounding them. And before the doctor has enough time to register anything happening around her, a curly-haired boy sprints past them, trailed by about a half dozen other sugar-charged primary kids.

It takes nearly everything she has not to cover her ears with her hands and get the hell out of there. It is too loud and too cramped. A weight descends onto her chest.

"Are you okay?"

She starts to answer but stops abruptly as her eyes find a redheaded boy sitting at the top of the play structure on the exterior of a tunnel twenty feet above the ground. The netting below him is torn and hanging from the structural bars by a few decayed strands.

The doctor nearly implodes.

 _It's okay. It's okay, he's okay. Okay o kayokay._

"Maura?" Jane tries, voice laced with concern. But the doctor cannot hear anything over the sound of her own breathing, the screaming of the children, the twitching of her skin.

The boy at the top of the structure stands and flails his arms around, taunting his friends. Brutally disregarding his own safety for a laugh.

"The boy," she whispers.

"What boy?"

"On the tunnel."

Jane follows her eyes, then glances back at her with creased brows, "I don't see a boy."

The doctor scans around the room, searching for someone who might be responsible for him. But no one is paying attention. No one is watching out for him as he stands and bends his knees. As his foot slips out from beneath him. As he loses his balance and lands hard on his back on top of the tunnel.

She watches in horror as he grasps frantically for any kind of hand-hold as gravity drags him down, down, down. His sweaty hands squeak against the industrial plastic as he slips, legs kicking through the air, a fluid not viscous enough to save him.

The doctor feels suspended in time, until finally, his little hand shoots out and grips one of the peepholes in the tunnel at the very last second. He dangles there for a few seconds before finding his way to the ground. Once his feet touch the floor, he takes off after his friends like nothing happened.

She watches as the group of children loops back around the slides, a pit forming in her stomach as she fails to locate the redheaded boy. She begins to wonder if he was really ever there.

"He's gone."

"Maura? I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean… I—"

"I'm sorry," she says, standing, "I can't. I need to leave."

Jane gets to her feet, "Maura, please. We can go somewhere quiet. I just… I promised my girls, but I owe you an explanation."

"Really, Jane, it's fine." As soon as the lie breaks touch with her lips, it floods her skin, the valleys of her arms, her neck. All her life, she has lived with her own lie detector etched into her very DNA. She cannot lie. Not without triggering a tell. And now, standing before Jane, the urge to rake her nails across her skin as a feeble attempt to soothe the irritation becomes unbearable.

If Jane sees her falling into herself, she does not show it. Instead, she remains utterly calm and presses a hand at the doctor's lower back just as she did at the grocery store. The doctor allows herself to be let out of the room and into a booth near a window overlooking the play area. "Is this better?"

The doctor nods slowly, testing her body for the truth. "Yes, I seem to… I'm having the…" she drops her eyes to her hands in her lap, willing her fingers to unclench and relax.

"Okay, so no center of attention. No loud noises or crazy kids. Anything else?"

"What?" she asks, looking up.

"Things I need to watch out for next time I wanna see you… You don't like those things. You get this look. I don't really know how to explain it, but it's there. Sorta like you're stuck. I dunno. I guess I just don't wanna hurt you."

She watches Jane's eyes instinctively search the play area for her daughters and wonders what it is like to have someone to care for so deeply. Is the kind of love she sees in Jane's eyes when she looks at her daughters attainable?

"Storms," the doctor offers quietly, "I don't like storms."

She nods, still looking out the window, "What kind?"

"All of them… I don't like to feel trapped."

Jane looks up then, eyes clear and serious as she leans forward just enough to trip the doctor's defenses, "I'll never trap you."

The doctor breaks her eyes away, instead, looking past Jane at a family filling their fountain drinks. As far removed from herself as she feels, what she _isn't_ feeling is regret.

"And Maura?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want you to think that it had anything to do with you. The coffee, I mean. I _wanted_ to go. After that first day, I couldn't stop thinking about you." Her eyes widen as she realizes she may have said too much. Revealed something too close. Too real. All the doctor can do is stare at her.

 _Thinking about me?_

"Really?"

Jane lets out a small sigh and rolls her eyes at herself, "Yeah. I wanted to see you again. I had a great time… I like you a lot."

Confusion clouds her. The doctor is a woman who lives by rules governed by what can be proven absolutely. Yet here Jane is, confessing words she can't place. Can't compartmentalize. Can't enter into a data field and find results or statistics.

"Something came up," Jane folds and unfolds her hands on the tabletop, "I had to get a new phone. I had to practically kick down the door at the phone company to get your number back… But I got it, and now here you are."

"Here I am," she says quietly as if verifying it for herself.

Through the window, she tries to find Jane's daughters, but she can't manage to pick them out of the horde of other children. Then suddenly, it becomes easy. The pair goes down the corkscrew slide together, one on her stomach while the other holds her feet. Both girls are all smiles like they are having the time of their lives. They are so much more than the mere photograph Jane showed her back at the diner. She turns back to Jane, surprised to find her already looking.

"So you see them now," she says smoothly.

"They're… beautiful."

"Do you wanna meet them?" Such a strange question in the doctor's ears, but she nods all the same. "Good, we'll just give them a few more minutes."

…

As Jane collects her daughters, the doctor takes a few deep breaths to ease herself. Conversation with Jane aside, she has not forgotten about the boy. The one she imagined. She feels it now, the fuzziness in her fingertips that drops into dead weight.

 _No… Not here. Not_ ** _now_ _._**

She grits her teeth together to try to suppress it, knowing it's useless. When _She_ wants control, _She_ gets it. End of story. And she cannot‒ _will_ not‒ let Jane see this filthy side of her. Not Jane. Not her daughters.

She thinks of them. The three of them and how wonderful it must be to have people to put your love into. Someone to be reminded of when you pass something distantly familiar. Someone to protect with everything you have. Yes, the doctor has done her research, but what studies and articles can never give you is the feeling. She can sense it, the window Jane is giving her. A chance for a friendship. A chance to know her daughters, to smile at them and say their names. But she also knows, that at the end of the day, she isn't like them. She _disappears_. She hears things, sees things, loses time. If she got close… they would see what she is. They would run. They would _hate_ her.

Jane helps one of her girls with her shoes, completely unaware that the doctor has already left the booth, already exited the establishment, and is now retreating to her car in a walk that borders a run.

 _Dangerous. Dangerous. Dangero u s._

She gets to her car– her beacon of safety in this world of new– but cannot make herself get inside. Her hand grips the handle but moves no further. She is torn. Torn between safety or the risk required to add another– perhaps three– to her life. Never before has she been given the choice.

"Maura, wait!" Jane calls, rushing after her.

 _Be brave._

She turns to see Jane jogging toward her, trailed by two little girls. One holding her arms out to her sides, pretending to be an airplane.

"Nnneerrww," she exclaims before zooming toward her twin.

"Hey! Stop!"

"Maura," Jane says, pulling back her attention. "Where're you going?"

"I… don't know. I'm sorry, it's–"

"Too much?" Jane asks. It's just a simple question. No hidden meaning. No tripwires.

The doctor offers only a nod. In a way, it is too much. Too much expectation of her when all she was ever really going to do was disappoint them.

"Hey, I get it. Okay?" Her words are kind and well-intentioned, but they don't register well. The doctor takes it the wrong way and evades all connotations of empathy. Jane doesn't get it. She will never _get it._

"Maybe some other time then," Jane tries, and all the doctor can do is stare at her. Why does she keep trying? Does she really value her company so much that she would chase her down after she so rudely left? The doctor is faced with confusion she cannot see the tail end of.

"I don't think I can."

And it's the truth. She can't handle any of this. Not even a simple introduction to two small children. She thought she could, but now seeing three sets of dark, expectant eyes, she loses her courage. They are real people. Real people who can feel real disappointment, real pain. She rationalizes the best she can, coming to the conclusion that it is best to end things before they begin.

Jane's frown next-to shatters her, but there is nothing she can do. Nothing she knows how to do. She only knows two ways of living: enduring and fleeing. They deserve so much more than endurance at best.

"If that's what you want," Jane says lowly, clearly saddened. The doctor can feel her slipping through her fingertips but is at a loss on how to stop it. She tells herself that what she is doing is right, but her words lose conviction as Jane walks her daughters to their own car.

"Who's that, Mom?" one of the girls asks loudly enough for her to hear.

Jane tries to catch her eyes one last time but fails as the doctor climbs into her car. Though, not quickly enough to hide from the words Jane sighs into the air.

"Nobody, baby."

…

Later that night, the doctor eats alone. Of course, this is nothing new to her. Nothing surprising. Only tonight it feels significantly more _empty_ in her home. And the faint resonance of Jane's words only desponds her further.

" _Nobody, baby."_

She had her chance, and she destroyed it. Still, it is nothing new to the doctor. Everything seems to slip through the gaps in her fingers, but she knows where the fault lies. Something within herself banishes happiness.

She thinks of her cell phone tucked away in her purse. Her means of communication. Her only chance at mending this fragile friendship or whatever it is… or _was._ She could see it in Jane's eyes back in that parking lot: she had wounded her. She has let people fade in and out of her life thinking it was the only way, but maybe… not this time?

What if Jane is not like the others? What if she really doesn't mind getting to know her? What if she _wants_ to be in her life?

 _What have I done?_

The doctor pushes away from the table and goes straight for her phone. She is going to do it. She is going to call her, take initiative, and fix this. Take a chance and maybe fix everything.

She digs around in her purse all the while thinking of things to say.

 _Jane, please. I'm sorry._

 _Please forgive me. I'm going to try._

 _I don't want to lose you._

But the very second her hand closes around the smooth glass screen of her phone, the nerves at the base of her spine explode, red-hot flames burn at her nerve-endings.

[No.]

She gasps in shock as the voice fills her mind for the first time in nearly a week and a half. She feels the icy fingers take hold at the base of her skull, worming deep into her brain.

 _No, please!_

She was just beginning to look up, but now there is no chance. The phone slips from her hands and clatters noisily on the floor. Foolishly, the doctor bends to reach for it, only to have another torrent of fire sear the walls of her veins.

[No.]

 _But… Jane._

[No.]

"No!" she yells at nothing, "I won't let you take her!"

[Mine.]

"I am _not_ yours! Let me go!"

[No. Never.]

Her legs give out beneath her, but she feels nothing. Sees nothing. It's more than mere darkness. It's non-existence.

 _She_ has returned.


	4. Yesterday

**Two Months Later**

 **8 Hours Ago**

…

 _The doctor sits in her office, fingers pressed to her temples. It is late, and all she really wants to do is finish redoing Pike's reports, but she feels drained. She knows she should simply ask Pike to pay more attention to his reports, but she would rather avoid him for as long as she can. Recently, there is something about the way his eyes seem to wander from hers during their brief exchanges that unsettles the doctor. Something in his tiny eyes holds her body far above her mind in his head. Often times, she finds herself adjusting her clothes to cover even the most innocent expanses of skin._

 _Most days, she retreats to her office to avoid his eyes and surrounds herself with work. Just as she sits behind her desk now with a headache enveloping the left side of her brain. Normally, she wouldn't mind the extra work, but when her vision starts to split and waver, she decides to call it quits._

 _She collects herself with a few deep breaths and peers through half-shut eyes as she gets to her feet. Her muscles ache with the movement. She has been on her feet all day, straining her body as well as her brain. She can see it now._

 _A hot bath._

 _A glass of wine._

 _A Franz Schubert record playing softly in the background._

 _Sheer perfection._

 _She shoulders her purse and locks the door behind her. Something catches in her peripheral vision. With the key still in the lock, she turns and gasps._

 _Two bodies occupy examination tables– one covered properly, the other with his chest still gaping open. Flaps of skin peeled over, exposing the chest cavity. To any other, a gruesome sight, but to the doctor, nothing but incompetence and blatant negligence stares back at her._

 _She tucks her fingers into tight fists but drops them to her sides after only a moment. She should have known… How could she have been so careless? So completely unaware of what was going on outside her office?_

" _Dr. Pike," she calls out, "are you here?"_

 _There is no answer._

 _The doctor pulls back the sheet covering the other body and stops immediately as she recognizes her. The stitching across the sternum, the bruising beneath the collarbones, it is all-too-familiar. Dr. Pike has removed from the body fridge the woman she had performed an autopsy on just hours before, the only question is why?_

 _She returns the covered body to the body fridge, then starts to mend what Pike had neglected before vanishing to god knows where. She pulls latex gloves over her hands and a surgical smock over her clothes. Pushing the upset temporarily out of her head, she begins the continuous suture._

…

 _The air tonight is absolutely ionized, charged with the storm to come. It hastens the doctor's stride to the parking garage on the other end of the block. The day has been too long. She is drained, and all she really needs is to get home. She will deal with Dr. Pike come morning._

 _Street lamps and passing headlights illuminate her path, casting Boston in a dull yellow glow. The calm, the calm, the calm before the storm._

" _Dr. Isles? Is that you?" an, unfortunately, familiar voice calls from behind her. "Stop!"_

 _While she does not appreciate the order, she complies. "Yes, Doctor?"_

" _What have you done with my patients?"_

 _The doctor steps directly beneath a lamp and watches as the shadows recede with each step Pike takes in her direction. She is just four floors from her car and a half hour from her home– if she's lucky._

" _I simply finished what you had neglected to do."_

" _I was coming back!"_

 _She narrows her eyes, "Do you realize the repercussions of your actions, Doctor? Leaving a body exposed and unattended?"_

" _Look," he starts, but she_ ** _will not_** _have it._

" _Dr. Tierney_ ** _didn't_ **_order a re-autopsy of either of those bodies, Dr. Pike. What were you doing?"_

" _I…"_

" _I'm not going to ask again, Doctor. Either you explain yourself, or I_ ** _will_** _report you."_

 _He says nothing, and the seconds drag on slowly, moving as she feels. Tired. Exhausted. This can wait until morning._

" _Alright then, goodnight, Dr. Pike," she turns and starts for the entrance to the parking garage._

" _I'm only doing as instructed, Dr. Isles. Surely you understand that."_

 _She stops, "Instructed by whom?"_

 _When he gives her no answer, she walks away. She does not have time for excuses and lies. She does not have time for the shuffle of his shoes as he follows her inside. A twinge of fear travels through her, but she shakes it away. He must have parked in here as well. Though she does opt for the stairs, seeing as a trip up four floors trapped in a metal box with the man seems rather unappealing._

" _Dr. Isles!" He is gaining on her._

 _She climbs the stairs as quickly as she can manage without looking frantic. Despite herself, she is frightened, though keeping it hidden seems the next best thing to self-preservation. No weaknesses._

 _Below her, it sounds like he is taking the steps two at a time. He catches her in seconds, his hand closing roughly around her wrist._

 _[No. Away.]_

" _Dr. Isles!"_

" _Please let go of me."_

 _But he doesn't. Not when she asks. Not when she tries to get away. Not when she screams: "Let go of me!"_

 _He presses her against the railing, and she is trapped, pinned between Pike and a three story free fall. His breath is hot on her neck. Fear immobilizes her. All she can do is shut her eyes and hope someone sees them._

" _I'm just following orders," his words come out low, rumbling, "and one of those orders was to make sure no one stopped me."_

" _I won't report you," her voice is small, and she knows it is weak but it is imperative to_ _ **always have something to trade.**_

 _He chuckles, darkly, darkly, darkly. "I'm afraid that's the least of my worries, Dr. Isles. These people, they are… inclined to get what they want. They can't have someone like you out there."_

" _Please," she whispers, though she doesn't know why._

" _If you would have just gone home when you were supposed to, none of this would have happened, Maura. I'm terribly sorry for this." The way her name falls from his mouth sends a shiver down her spine. Never before had the phonetics of her name been forced to hold such intonation. Her name sounded like a dirty word. A curse._

" _P-please let go."_

 _He presses his palm hard into her collar, thumb and forefinger pushing up around her throat. She gasps and tries to pull away, but he holds her fast. "I am so sorry, Doctor. I wish I could, but how do I know you wouldn't just get into your car and contact one of your detective friends?"_

 _He reaches up and brushes a few stray strands of hair from her eyes. She flinches away from his touch, but if he notices, he doesn't seem to care. Just like he doesn't seem to notice her hands shoving back at his chest. It's no use. She hasn't the strength to fight, and even if she did, she wouldn't know how._

 ** _Trapped._**

 _[Enough.]_

 ** _Help m e…_**

 _The doctor is too weak on her own. The day has drained her far beyond any hope of escaping. But there is still just one option:_ _ **Her**._

 ** _Plea se, I can' t._**

 _[Help?]_

 ** _Yes! Please, he lp m e!_**

 _The doctor fades._

…

 _._

 **Present Time**

...

After her brief brush with Jane, the doctor goes about her daily routine. She finds comfort in the repetition. There are no outliers, no loose ends, no surprises. She does her job, and she does it well. By all appearances, she thrives.

But appearances are most deceiving.

Some days she runs into trouble during her examinations. She struggles to logically piece together the clues that stand right before her. It seems that something so simple weeks ago now flies right above her head, instead, taking her days rather than just minutes. Frustration claims her as its own.

Outside of work, she fights for control with _Her._ It is not a battle of power or of will. It's not even a real fight. The doctor has no defenses against her own mind. She found a modicum of clarity in a world with Jane, but in that same world held dangers beyond what she could understand.

She does not allow herself to think of Jane or her daughters. It is much easier to live her life in tortured ignorance. She is informed, and she is trying her very best to forget it.

Still, she cannot help the moments of weakness when thoughts of them seep into her mind. Her heart clenches, but her mind soars. Happiness fills her. But only for a while. Because it only takes so long before she remembers what she has done. What she has let slip through her fingers. She does her best to stay afloat, but she begins to wonder something she's never considered: She is trying, but for what cause? At what cost?

…

July is prone to storms.

Nearly every night the sky is cracked apart and resealed with thunder and rain. The scent of wet sidewalks turns her stomach, and she makes it a point to lock each of her windows.

But the sound.

The sound cannot be avoided. She has tried everything: earplugs, loud music, sleeping pills. Nothing works.

She lies in bed, sweating beneath every blanket she owns, hands clamped over her ears. She can still hear it. Her body begs her to leave the heat of her unsuccessful haven, but she cannot move. She holds herself, mumbling nonsense in the oxygen-deprived darkness beneath the covers.

"It's nothing. Not… _nothing._ I need… I need. I need… something. Something."

Another thunderclap threatens to push her over the edge, but she resists. No longer thinking at all.

 _Trapped. Trapp e dtrapped._

"Yesterday… On the stairs…" she reaches out and draws ascending right angles with her fingers on the sheets. "Dr. Pike… Yesterday. Yes-ter-day."

[Good.]

She smiles to herself, eyes half-closed.

[Yesterday.]

 _Yes...terday._

[Sleep.]

…

.

 **8 Hours Ago**

...

" _Come with me," she says, words dripping from the doctor's mouth with newfound ease. It's much easier for_ ** _Her_** _to take control when the doctor doesn't fight it._

 _The doctor is blank. It's only_ _ **Her**._

 _ **Her**._

" _What?" Pike asks, clearly confused by the sudden change in the woman beneath his hands. Just moments ago, he could smell the fear wafting from her skin, but now…_

 _Using his confusion to her benefit, she slips from his hands and ascends the remaining stairs. "Aren't you coming?"_

" _Wh-where?"_

" _You'll see." She extends her hand, eyes inviting and strangely innocent. The desired effect. He reaches for the young doctor, shocked, yet seemingly thrilled to follow._

 _Their hands meet, fingers entwine. Perfect._

 _For him._

 _But not for long._

 _She pulls him up the steps, her free hand reaching to rest on the side of his face._

" _Dr. Isles?"_

 _She can tell he never once imagined this outcome. He knew he could easily overpower the doctor and chased her down with the intention of hurting, trapping. He basked in her fear. But_ _ **She** __is not afraid of anything._

" _It can be our little secret, Dr. Pike. I won't tell anyone," she smiles and his face moves to match._

" _I don't think–"_

" _No one saw me there but you, Doctor." Her other hand comes to rest on his chest._

" _I–"_

" _Just us," she whispers, and she is winning him over. Not that she needs to. Just like she doesn't need to lower her voice: "You know, I see they way you look at me."_

 _His brow raises, "You do?" As if he weren't the most obvious predator._

 _She nods, "Yes, I do, and you know what?"_

 _He swallows, beady eyes darkening beneath thick glasses, "What?"_

 _She leans in closely, her lips just barely brushing the shell of his ear, "I don't fucking like it."_

 _Before he even has enough time to react, she shoves him with all her strength. He loses his balance, hands groping the open air for anything to hold onto. Anything to save him. But there's nothing._

 _First, it's his shoulders._

 _The impact with the solid concrete swings his head back, ramming the back of his skull into the edge of the step with a loud_ _crack._ _He lands in a crumpled mass on the landing, dazed but not quite dead. The back of his head is split just barely, a minor, survivable injury…_ _if_ _treated._

 _They are going somewhere, yes, but certainly not a hospital._

" _Now, now, Dr. Pike. We can't have you lying there all night, now can we?"_

" _Please?" his voice comes out weak and labored, echoing the doctor's own pleas just minutes before._

" _Don't worry, Dr. Pike. We're not finished yet."_

…

.

 **Present Time**

...

[Wake up.]

Her eyes open automatically, hands clawing at the blankets over her face. She takes in a sharp breath, painful enough to make her cry out. Her eyes widen as confusion floods her.

[Home.]

 _Okay._

She sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes. It is dark out, but that doesn't mean anything. She could have been asleep for three hours or three days. She glances at the digital clock on her nightstand, relieved to find it's only been a couple of hours.

The rain still falls lightly on her roof, but after several minutes she decides that thunder is unlikely at this point. She doesn't mind the rain so much, just so long as she is not in it.

[Eat.]

 _Now?_

[Yes.]

 _Back to this, are we?_

[Eat. Now.]

"Okay, okay," she slips out from beneath the covers and climbs off her bed. Her feet meet the floor atop yesterday's dress. One glance and she already knows it is ruined beyond repair. Its blue material is torn and strewn in odd directions and covered in grime.

 _What did you do?_

[Help.]

 _Yes, but what happened?_

[Nothing.]

 _Please tell me you didn't…_

[Nothing.]

"Fine." She scoops the dress off the floor and stuffs it into the trash can when she makes it to the kitchen. The events of yesterday are still fuzzy in her memory. She remembers leaving the station and running into Dr. Pike in the parking garage… No.

She didn't run into him.

[No.]

 _Did he… hurt me?_

[No.]

She remembers the bodies he left out. The ones she had already completed autopsies on. She was going to report him.

[Yes.]

The doctor presses the heel of her hand to her forehead and shuts her eyes tightly. She tries to pick through her memories, but it's no use. Trying to remember what happens when _She_ is in control is like trying to squint through steel.

[Eat.]

Scanning her pantry, she finds a wide array of soups _–_ what she has been living on even since the last time _She_ took control. She does not want to risk a repeat of what happened last time. If she could just stay prepared for anything, maybe things would make themselves better. Maybe it would be easier to live with something else in her head.

…

Halfway through a bowl of tomato soup, the sky begins to rumble. The doctor grits her teeth and pushes her dinner away. She grips the tabletop, trying to convince herself what she is doing is completely irrational. Thunder is simply the sound produced when rapidly heated air expands. It is just noise. It cannot hurt her. But her body begs to differ as she begins to tremble.

 _Lucero… YESterday._

"Rosa!" The name forces itself through her teeth. "Rosa, please!"

No response. The one time she needs someone, her head decides to think rationally and without delusion.

"Daddy?" she tries. Burying her face in her hands. She feels a lump in her throat as she cries out the names of people long dead. There is no one left for her.

It does not take long for the tears to claim her. She is so _weak_. Thirty years old and crying because of thunder and loneliness. She doesn't want to feel sorry for herself. There is no reason to. She is well-off with her own home and a highly-regarded job. But what good is any of that if at the end of the day, when everyone around her returns to their families, friends, and lovers, she returns to her lavish, empty home all by herself?

Desperation fills her, "Mother?"

"Darling, I honestly don't understand why you do this to yourself."

She looks up from her hands, shocked she got an answer. But _of course_ , it had to be Constance. "Mother?"

"Who else would it be? It's not like you have anyone else traipsing up and down your halls day and night."

The doctor smiles at the manicured woman beside her and tries her best to ignore the fact that her mother is actually six feet beneath the surface. "How are you, Mother?"

"Well."

"And Daddy?"

"Oh, you know your father. Always busy with the next big thing on his list."

She does not know. She barely knew her father and not for lack of trying, either.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of lightning in the distance. She counts out three seconds before another clap drills through the air. She jumps and covers her head, earning a disapproving look from her mother.

"Always the thunder with you. I cannot tell you how many nannies you scared away with your tantrums. You used to run into the coat closet and scream until they called me." The woman shakes her head at the memory, "I was about to give up and put you on some kind of medication."

"But?"

She sighs, "Then I hired, Rosa."

"Rosa," she repeats fondly.

"She was so old, I honestly didn't think she could handle you, but you loved that woman more than anyone. It was clear after the first week."

"I loved you too."

"I know, darling, but Rosa had a special place in your heart. She had a way of calming you down, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't mimic it. You always wanted Rosa," she closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, "then when she died, I didn't know how to explain to you that she wasn't coming back."

The doctor traps her bottom lip beneath her teeth and nods, "I didn't believe you."

"You were ten years old. I didn't know what to tell you."

"I know. It's okay, Mother." She wants to reach out and reassure her mother, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows she can't really touch her. She is not really beside her. It's all in her head. Bright blue eyes hold the doctor's, threatening to break her further. She is so _alone_ , she has resorted to talking to her dead mother.

"Darling, you need to stop all of this."

She blinks a few times in shock, "What?"

"You need to have people to share your life with."

"But…"

"Don't 'but' me, Maura. Just look at yourself. You're talking to yourself. Go out there and make a friend. Who knows? Maybe you will find someone amazing."

"But I don't kn–"

"Honestly, Maura. I love you, but sometimes I just want to shake some sense into you."

"I don't understand."

"What's there to not understand? I'm not saying just throw yourself out there, but you need to at least try. Take that woman for example. The tall one with the wild hair. Two daughters, if I'm not mistaken."

The doctor shifts in her chair, "Jane."

"Yes, Jane. She seemed to understand you, heaven knows how she found the patience. What's more, she _liked_ you, darling. Maybe her daughters would have too if you would have given them a chance."

"I ruined it. There's nothing I can do. It's been two months, Mother."

"So? It has been ten years since you and I have spoken at all and look at us."

"No," she traces a finger along the edge of the table, "I _really_ ruined it."

"You don't know that. Call her. Apologize for whatever it is you think was so bad and ask for another chance. It isn't rocket science…" her mother is quiet for a beat, "though knowing you, you would probably prefer that."

She feels a hint of a smile before letting it fade, "What if she doesn't want to talk to me?"

Her mother offers the kindest smile the doctor has ever seen grace her beautiful face, "Of course she will want to talk to you. Just call her. Everything will sort itself out, but not if you don't at least _try._ You are an Isles woman, after all."

The doctor takes in a deep breath, "I wouldn't know what to say."

"Just don't think about it. If she is really as special as you make her out to be in there," she points to her daughter's head, "then she will understand what you mean."

She thinks of Jane. Jane something. For the first time, she realizes that she knows almost nothing about the woman. Not even her last name, yet Jane was willing to invite her into her life and introduce her to her children.

The doctor _wants_ to know her… wants to know everything about her.

"Then call her." Of course, her mother could hear her thoughts as well. After all, she too is part of her mind.

"I tried before. _She_ wouldn't let me."

Her mother shakes her head, "No, no, Maura. You cannot let _Her_ control you. _She's_ nothing without you. Besides, _She's_ weak after… yesterday." The way her mother says the last word sends a shiver down her spine. Clearly, her mother knows what happened, but the real question remains: Does she really want to know what _She_ has done?

 _No._

"I'll call her."

"Then I guess my job is finished," she says, getting to her feet.

The doctor reaches out frantically, catching nothing but open air, "Please, don't leave."

"Oh, darling, I'm always around. Though, I would prefer you think of me in here," she points to her daughter's heart, "rather than _this_ next time."

She nods and watches as her mother starts toward the hallway, thinning into the air almost as quickly as she appeared.

" _Goodbye, my darling."_

The doctor feels her heart sink but only for a moment.

 _Jane._

…

She rushes into her bedroom and yanks her phone off the charger. She unlocks it, smiling a little at the onscreen message.

' _Call me. -J'_

Two months. She has been staring at that message for two months as if it would give her any inkling of comfort. It hasn't. Until now, at least.

 _Be Brave._

[No.]

 _Yes. You can't do anything about it._

The doctor waits a few seconds for a response, but it seems like _She_ has gone back to sleep or wherever it is _She_ goes when not invading the doctor's head.

She tries to calm herself a bit before pressing the call icon. She waits patiently as it dials, but after four rings, she starts to lose courage. Just as she is about to hang up, she hears a muffled clicking noise.

"Hmm… 'Lo?"

The doctor smacks the heel of her hand to her forehead. It's three in the morning, and she just woke her up. But she can't back down now. She can never guarantee she will ever work up this much bravery again.

"Jane?"

"Yeah," her voice is heavy and low, nearly a whole octave lower than usual.

"Uh… It's Maura."

It's quiet for couple of beats before she hears more muffled noises, "It's like three A.M. What are you–"

Thunder booms in the darkness outside, driving the doctor into her own bed. She pulls the covers around her and waits for Jane to say something more.

"The storm…" Jane says, seemingly thinking out loud. Then direct and serious: "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? It's really loud."

"I'm okay, Jane… I was actually calling to…" she loses her words.

"Calling to…?"

She squeezes her eyes shut and wracks her brain for the words to tell Jane what she is feeling. All her life, she has relied on her words only to have them fail her now?

"I'm sorry."

 _Almost._

"I'm sorry I freaked out on you… I was scared they would hate me. You were so kind, I just… I didn't understand. I'm so sorry."

 _Better._

"Jane, are you there?"

"I'm here."

She doesn't know what else to say, so she just apologizes a few more times, probably sounding a bit crazy in Jane's ears, but she just _can't_ stop herself.

"Maura! Maura, it's okay. Alright? I'm not mad at you, I never was."

The doctor furrows her brow, "You're not?"

"No. Of course not. Not at you," she sighs, "I guess I just came on too strong."

Even though she knows Jane can't see her, she shakes her head vehemently, "No, you didn't do anything wrong. I just… I don't know why… It's hard for me to understand people. But… I want to understand you."

She can hear Jane stifle a yawn on the other end of the line, "Do you want to try again? No kids this time. Just you and me?"

The doctor feels a light flutter in her stomach at the notion of seeing Jane again, "Yes, I would love that."

"Alright, I'm goin' back to sleep, but I'll call you in the morning."

"Of course, I'm sorry. I didn't realize the time."

"Don't worry about it."

"Goodbye, Jane," she says before hanging up. She stares at the screen until it shuts off on its own and smiles to herself. This whole time she has been under the impression that there is a right way to apologize to someone. Some kind of formula Mr. Yogorov never taught her in AP Calculus. But her sloppy words somehow registered correctly with Jane. She has done something right.

 _I did it…_

 _I really did it._


	5. Initium

The next morning, Jane does call. And the doctor looks up, for the first time in months.

…

.

 **One Week Later**

...

They make plans to meet for breakfast before work, and the doctor cannot remember the last time she felt such anticipation. Such excitement. It bubbles deep in her stomach and percolates into her veins, energizing her into restlessness. She can barely contain herself as she dresses.

Her attention snaps from one dress to the next as she tries to imagine what kind of conversations she might have in a magenta Chanel with a sweetheart neckline or a navy Dior wrap dress. She has never considered the depth or her wardrobe– that a green dress could be anything more than an article of clothing– but now she realizes that there is too much. Too many options that could be the wrong ones. She is too wound-up to choose.

The feeling grows rapidly inside her. Fascination swamps her fears, fueling her courage– new and unfamiliar yet exhilarating. However, _She_ has other plans.

Just as she grabs her keys from the ceramic bowl in the entryway, she feels her feet accumulate pounds of dead weight, encased to the knee in solid concrete bolted to the hardwood. Fatigue curls into her cells like smoke, robbing them of energy. Of life.

 _No._

The doctor fights it because she knows what she wants. Images of Jane flash in her mind. Dark. Beautiful. Kind and wonderful. She grits her teeth and presses through _Her_ mere obstacle. But the doctor is weak. Weak-minded. All her life, she has succumbed to the voice, in turn, weakening her own willpower. But never has she had anything‒ or anyone‒ to fight for.

A chance. That is all she wants. A chance at a life without interruption. Without gaps in memory, searing headaches, and constant fear. Unclouded and clean. Just a life. A simple one-minded life.

Before long, the weight becomes too much to bear, and she can no longer move.

[Stay.]

"Please let me go... I want..."

[Want?]

"I want to see Jane." She does everything to keep the desperation out of her tone. _She_ doesn't like begging.

[Jane?]

"Yes, Jane." She closes her eyes and pictures Jane that first day in the diner, hair wild, sleeves pushed back, and her confident smile. Beautifully confident. She pushes the image of Jane at _Her_. In turn, she feels _Her_ squirm in curiosity. Discontent.

[Why?]

The doctor is not sure why. Something about Jane makes her feel softer, less volatile. Less likely to disintegrate into the atmosphere, just carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen.

[Safe?]

"Of course. She doesn't want to hurt us."

[Here.]

She sighs, wishing she could touch _Her_ as some sort of comfort for the both of them, "Jane won't hurt me."

The weight melts away from her feet instantaneously, and a simple request pushes to the front of her mind like tethered balloons and doors that lock from the inside.

[Stay.]

But there is no restriction. The doctor is free to choose. Jane or _Her_. Jane... or _Her_. As strange as it is to admit, she has grown accustomed to the whisper. Sometimes the doctor is convinced _She_ is not inherently bad. At times _She_ is a breath of life, but most days... a monster. But there is something more:

If _She_ were to disappear, the loneliness would be petrifying. Now, yes, the doctor is lonely. But to lose the voice would hollow her defenses, her sense of wholeness. She would just be empty, empty… empty.

[Stay. Stay.]

 _I'm not leaving you._

[Yes.]

 _No! I wouldn't do that! I'm just going to breakfast._

There is no response, and something tells her she is not getting one. She can't feel _Her_. Gone again to wherever _She_ hides away.

 _I'm not leaving you._

...

In her car, she shifts in her seat and drums her thumbs on the steering wheel, rapidly counting out intervals much faster than seconds. All she can think of is the breakfast to come.

 _Jane_.

She wants to get it right this time, to make amends and begin again. To let Jane know she is grateful for everything she has done in the short time they have known each other and thank her for her patience.

...

The doctor pauses outside the café. Her hand hovers over the door handle. Peering through the glass door, she can see Jane settled at a table on the opposite wall. Jeans as always and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled. Her messy hair falls over the paper she is so intently reading‒ a sight so strangely breathtaking, the doctor takes a moment to commit it to memory.

The sound of a throat clearing behind her shocks her back into reality. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she says, opening the door and holding it open for a rather impatient-looking young couple behind her. Without so much as a thank you, they go inside, leaving the doctor more embarrassed than offended.

 _Be brave._

 _Hello, Jane._

 _No..._

 _Hi, Jane._

She rolls her eyes at herself. There is no reason to fret over the familiarity of her greeting. As Rosa would tell her: _Have a little faith, lucero._ But more than that, Jane's patience seemed to settle her. The way she remained attentive but not in any way demanding the doctor to hurry her point, and how her eyes seemed to guide her through her stumbled beginnings and messy consonants had a soothing effect on the nervous doctor.

That small thread of hope now stitches itself into the doctor's heart as she gingerly makes her way to the far end of the café.

Does she sit? Does she say something to get her attention? Does she wait until Jane notices her?

She makes a fist at her side, trying to symbolically crush her own fear. It doesn't work, but she keeps trying. She would give anything to have a friend. To have someone who could bear her nervous rambles and allay her crushing fear of strangers. Someone to help talk her through a storm. Just someone to have by her side.

Courage. The doctor decides she needs courage. But there is no hope she would be able to muster any all on her own, so she settles for the next best thing. Without so much as a second to reject the idea, she reaches out and taps the woman on the shoulder twice. Jane jumps, startled at the sudden contact. She glances over her shoulder, surprise giving way to a wide grin.

"Hey, you."

"Hi, Jane."

She gets to her feet, still towering over the heel-clad doctor regardless. In two months the doctor has forgotten just how _magnificent_ she is. Endlessly tall and lanky decorated with sharp features contrasting the softness in her eyes.

"You wanna start over?"

"Excuse me?"

Jane holds out her hand, "Jane Rizzoli, and you are?"

The doctor feels the corners of her mouth rise at the smile in Jane's voice. The utter contagiousness of the woman before her makes it impossible not to play along. She takes Jane's hand, marveling at the way it seems to almost engulf hers.

"Dr. Maura Isles," she says finally.

Her eyes widen, "You're a doctor?"

"Yes. Is that surprising?"

She runs a hand through her hair, "Yeah, I mean a little. Not in a bad way. I kinda... I kinda had you pegged as a teacher." They settle into chairs opposite from each other, the doctor eager to hear Jane's reasoning. "You know, like maybe English or something."

She shakes her head, "I... I could never be a teacher."

"Why not?" The second the inquiry leaves her mouth, she seems to answer her own question. "Oh, the center of attention‒"

"It's not that I wouldn't like to… I guess I'm just not that brave," she relents, trying to seem less helpless, though, it's all for naught because Jane is… well, Jane is _Jane._

"I understand," Jane says, meeting her eyes across the table. "For what it's worth, I think you're very brave."

Now it is the doctor's turn to be surprised. She shakes her head and drops her eyes to the tabletop, "I'm not brave."

"Yes, you are. You're here aren't you? And that first day when we met? You went out on your own, and if not for the extra attention, you would have been just fine. Then at McDonald's... well, that was my fault. Completely my fault."

She opens her mouth to protest Jane's words, but nothing comes out. She doesn't know what to say. She never knows what to say.

"What I mean to say is that you're trying your best. You'll get there, Maura. I know you will... I believe you can."

She does _not_ understand Jane's kindness. Much more than anything, she doesn't understand _why_. What does Jane see in her that is possibly worth believing in? Is there something the doctor cannot see written on her own forehead?

"Thank you," she whispers, still unable to look up from the table.

Just in time, a waitress drops by. Maura orders her usual cheese and tomato omelet while Jane opts for a stack of blueberry pancakes. Fitting, the doctor decides. She couldn't imagine Jane Rizzoli taking any meal too lightly.

"So do you work at a hospital?"

"I used to," she says, dreading the words to come next. She loves her job. It is the only thing in her life that seems to always stay the same. But while the stagnancy appeals to the doctor, she wishes her job had absolutely no need to exist. "I... I work for the medical examiner's office."

Jane nods, "So you do autopsies then?"

"Yes." She waits for the questions always asked when the topic of autopsy surfaces. _You cut open dead people? Doesn't that freak you out? Do you see them... naked?_

She waits, but they don't come. Instead, Jane merely prompts another question. "Have you worked there long?"

"A few years." She feels a surge of bravery, "Actually, I've recently received a promotion." Dr. Tierney, the former chief medical examiner had transferred to Atlanta just three days ago, passing his title onto a rather eager Dr. Isles. While misplaced, her enthusiasm to do her work registered well with Tierney, one of the few people she's ever met not to mind her detachment from the other employees.

"Congratulations, really. That's great."

The doctor looks up, truly meeting Jane's eyes for the first time since they sat down. She sees nothing but pure sincerity relaying from dark irises.

It is great. She can be happy for herself.

"So, what do you do?"

For a fraction of a second, Jane's eyes harden and her shoulders tense. But just as quickly, she relaxes. It is so instantaneous, the doctor can't be sure if she didn't imagine the whole thing.

"Nothing anymore. I guess I'm just a full-time single parent. But I guess I cheat a little 'cause I leave my girls with my mother half the time," she says leaning in as if to conceal their conversation. The doctor leans in as well, hazel-green eyes wide and curious, "But between you and me, I think she likes it."

The doctor doesn't hear the secret as the closeness of their faces drowns out Jane's words. She vaguely registers that Jane is talking to her, but the words themselves never make it to her. She is too busy taking in the shape of her companion's mouth as she forms words. The small valley between her nose and upper lip‒ the philtrum, her brain fills in. But mostly the way her lips move as she speaks, every few words giving way to bright teeth, stained slightly from too much coffee consumption. She could take in the details of Jane for hours and still be focusing on the features of her face.

"Um, Maura?"

She blinks, and shakes her daze from her mind, "Yes?"

"Just making sure you're still with me."

"Of course. I'm sorry."

"Nah, you're good."

The waitress returns with their plates, "Anything else I can get you?"

Reading the doctor carefully, Jane turns to the waitress, "No, I think we're set. Thank you, though."

"No problem. Enjoy your breakfast," she says with a courteous smile before leaving them to their dishes.

Having not finished her soup last night‒ this morning, more like it‒ the doctor's stomach growls insistently. She picks up her fork and begins her ritual of sectioning the omelet into bite-sized triangles. She works methodically, fully concentrating on the task at hand. She is so involved, she doesn't notice Jane smirking at her.

"What're you doing there?"

She looks up from her food, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. _Normal._ Why can't she just act normally?

"I'm... I..." She sets her fork down and hangs her head in something that feels a little too close to shame.

Jane sighs, "I guess I'm not making it easy for you, am I? I wasn't making fun of you, I promise. It's just that you were so focused, so like... zeroed-in on that omelet. It was kinda funny."

Realizing that she's embarrassed the nervous doctor, Jane shakes her head and runs a hand through her hair again, "Sorry. I guess I'm not as good at this as I thought I was."

"Not good at what?"

"Just... not good at making friends. It's been awhile." She rakes her hand through thick curls, clenching and releasing her jaw as if it would help the situation along. "You're the first and only person I've talked to in months."

The doctor stills, unsure if she has heard her right. Her word choice staggers the doctor. Yes, first is significant. But it's the other word that wraps itself tightly around the doctor's body. Warm. Safe. Intimate.

 _Only._

 _First and only. Me? But why?_

"You know, besides family and stuff..." Jane adds like she felt the need to.

"Wh‒ I..." she picks her brain for the question she wants. A million and one stray thoughts and musings collide within her mind, but there's only one she wants to vocalize. She can handle the overload, yes. But piece by piece. It's the only way.

Jane's eyes coax the doctor to finish her question. Easy. Gently. Pure.

"Why me?"

Jane leans back in her chair, absorbing her question, and possible contemplating its merit. But before the silence stretches on for too long, she bends forward, resting on her elbows.

"I think it's your eyes."

"My... my eyes?" The doctor blinks a few times, suddenly self-conscious for no reason.

"Yeah, those," she says, pointing towards them with two fingers, dimples appearing in her cheeks. But after a moment, her smile fades. The doctor understands this is seriousness, "You have so much fire in your eyes, and you don't even know it."

 _Fire?_

"You look so determined in everything you do... Like you're always trying to do everything you can before giving in. I don't know, I just like that. I liked that you were trying your hardest to stay strong when that lady kept on asking you for help in the soup aisle, even when you knew you couldn't help her. And how you tried so hard to stay in the play area at McDonald's, but it just came to be too much. I don't know what I'm trying to say really," she laughs off the last part.

The doctor has no words. Not. A. Word. No one's ever said anything quite like that to her before.

"Sorry, that was totally weird, wasn't it?" Jane backtracks, tone tinged with nervous laughter.

 _No._

 _Brave. Be brave._

"No." Inhale. Exhale. Her voice minuscule, "It was lovely."

Jane relaxes a bit, easing the doctor as well. Seeing her companion borderline flustered nearly sent her heart into overdrive‒ exciting but terribly, terribly dangerous.

"So, what's keeping you here?" she jokes. Deflection.

"You're asking me what I like about you?" Blunt. Like a sentence chopped in half.

"I guess I am." Confident again. But now the doctor has seen another side. A brief glimpse of vulnerability. Something she hopes to have the privilege of visiting in the future.

Should she tell?

She fears explaining the effect Jane had on her would make her seem crazy. Or that the words would hold no sense or meaning once introduced to open air. What if Jane didn't understand? What if she thought her mad? Risk. Risk. _Risk_.

 _Just... try._

"I..."

Jane nods her along, "It's okay."

Her point exactly. Soft words and patient ears. She feels once again incredibly grateful for Jane herself and how she had so effortlessly found hold in the doctor's life. Right now, Jane has only a small handhold. The doctor wants to give her four holds and a harness. Or better yet, her own fingers entwined with the Jane's. Hold her fast. Don't let her fade.

Never let go.

Barely more than acquaintances, yet the doctor cannot imagine losing the calm she feels, smoothing over the static that always seems to exist behind her eyes. She has not felt this sort of repose in all her life. She would give anything to take a piece of Jane with her after parting.

"You make it stop," she says, her voice just above a whisper. "Just for a little while after I see you, I feel... different. Better. And..."

Jane reaches out, hesitating before placing her hand over the doctor's. "And..?" she whispers, matching the doctor's hushed tone.

The doctor's breath catches as Jane's palm presses to the back of her hand, long, thin fingers resting lightly on her wrist. She feels it at first like a little pinging in the back of her head, but it quickly melts into warmth filling the inside of her skull, seeping into her bones like dye. The doctor's eyes flutter shut, air escaping her. She is unsure how long it takes her to open her eyes again, but when she does, she's greeted with a half-smile and amused eyes.

"Your patience," she says firmly, her words strong and easily audible. "I like your patience with me. Sometimes it... it takes me a while to connect. But you don't seem to mind. You just wait. No one's ever waited..." she looks up, set on getting this right. "Thank you."

Someone at another table gets up to leave, and the doctor gasps, pulling her hand from underneath Jane's to check the time on her cell phone.

"I'm going to be late!"

Jane waves her hand, "Go. I'll handle this."

Words last spoken in the grocery line. Comforting words. Should-be reliefs. But the doctor feels a pang of guilt.

"No, I still owe you for buying my groceries." She reaches into her purse, "I have the money with me."

Jane simply shakes her head, "Don't worry about it. Really, you're going to be late."

"But..."

"Go. Don't be late."

"But..." she repeats almost dumbly.

"Maura, really. It's okay. Tell you what. You can make it up to me. Just call me the next time you're free, alright?"

The doctor shoulders her purse and trains her eyes on the on the tablecloth, "I'm always free."

"Like I said. Give me a call, 'kay? Don't be shy. Really, call me whenever."

She does not take this to heart. Not completely. From a number of childhood and adolescent therapy sessions and meetings with guidance counselors, she has heard variations of those very words. What they mean: Yes, call, but only if you must, and no, that does not mean in the middle of the night should a low-pressure system drift in. Surely Jane does not mean _whenever_.

Nonetheless, and an invitation is, after all, an invitation.

Yes, call... Just at a reasonable hour with reasonable intentions.

And she could handle that.

"Goodbye, Jane," she says, standing.

Jane smiles at her, and the doctor takes her leave, saddened to leave her new friend, yet thrilled at the idea of seeing her again.

...

Hours later in her office, a knock on the door startles her from her thoughts. She had no autopsies scheduled for today, but certainly plenty of test results to sift through. The common ground of any job. Documents in need of filling out or filing away. The job is not all wielding a scalpel and excising organs, but it's not just paperwork either. There is another aspect. What most people fail to fully realize is that a life, a real life, has been lost. Television sugarcoats the raw heartache of knowing. Knowing there is no hope. Find the cause of death, the murder weapon, and killer, sure... but in the end, a life is lost. An irretrievable life is lost.

Remembering the knock, she clears her throat quietly, "Come in."

Detective Frost steps into her office but leaves the door ajar behind him. "Hello, Dr. Isles."

"What can I do for you, detective?"

He does not take a seat or go anywhere near her desk, and from his body language, it is clear to the doctor that he is in a bit of a rush. "I've been working the Calder case with Dr. Pike, but I can't find him anywhere. And I don't think he'd just take a vacation in the middle of an investigation. Have you seen him around?"

She swallows, but doesn't waste a second, "Not today." _Not all week._

"Alright, I guess I'll just keep looking. Thanks anyway, doc."

As soon as the door shuts, her hands shoot out and grip her desk.

"The parking garage," she whispers into open air, an empty office. "The stairs... Then nothing. The parking garage... Dr. Pike." She presses her hands to her head, "He left the bodies out... Angry... Chased..."

[Yes. Help you.]

Dread grips her as the voice fills her mind, twisting her insides into some grotesque horror. She feels like an idiot for ever trying to comfort the monster inside her head.

 _What did you do?!_


	6. Ctenophora

A/N: Just as a way to clarify, there are times when Maura is in control and times when _She_ (the sort of being inside her body with her) is in control. Maura is not aware of what happens when _She_ takes the reins. The only way I could explain how _She_ takes control is by Maura describing that she loses feeling in her limbs before she blacks out. I hope that makes sense.

Side note: I never mentioned it before, but this AU takes place around 2007-ish, back when the iPhone was new and exciting, and I was eight years old and completely in love with Jessica Alba. Good times. It's not too relevant to the plot, but it might give you a better picture.

b

* * *

…

.

 **Two Weeks Later**

...

Jane becomes a part of her routine.

For two weeks straight, she clears her mornings for breakfast with Jane, and gradually, it becomes easier. Easier for the doctor to connect. She speaks freely about herself and her past with confidence. She is amazed with herself.

In turn, Jane makes her laugh like no other. Whether it is a poorly structured joke or a silly anecdote about her daughters, Jane never fails to get a smile out of the doctor. She feels herself dropping her walls around her new friend and no longer worries about Jane losing interest. How could she? She hangs on every word.

She is not on call this weekend. Last night, she tried to casually slip it into their conversation over the phone, hoping Jane would take the hint that she wanted to spend a bit more time together than their usual half-hour breakfasts. However, there was no change from their usual exchanges: _how was your day? ‒ are we still on for breakfast? ‒_ and just a few nerves. The good kind. But nothing about anything more than a meal.

The doctor decides that simply won't do.

…

She is ready to pull open the door to the café and join her friend without the slightest of hesitation. She is ready to laugh over a tomato and cheese omelet and blueberry pancakes drenched in syrup. She is ready to spend the morning with Jane.

What she is not ready for is the way her throat closes while her hand hangs suspended over the door handle. What she is not ready for is the waiter she recognizes as Phillip coming over to help her open the door. What. she. is. not. ready. for. is. the two little girls wiggling impatiently in their seats and tugging on their mother's clothing.

Phillip lets her in, trying to cover his confusion with a polite smile. She thanks him quietly but does not move any further into the café. Phillip follows her gaze to the family of three at her usual table.

"Dr. Isles, is there a problem?"

She shakes her head, unblinking, "No. Everything is fine, thank you."

He glances back over at the Rizzolis, then to the doctor, sensing a bit of the fear forming inside her. "Would you like me to walk you to your table?"

A nod serves as her answer, and Phillip offers his arm. She takes it, relying on him to get her to her table, and he comes through for her, only leaving once she gives him another slight nod.

"Hey, Maura," Jane says, looking nervously between her girls and her friend.

The doctor feels three sets of eyes searing into her skin. Wound too tightly, and filled too much, she cannot exist in this moment. She feels it. For the first time in weeks, she _really_ feels it. That force, that pressure against her chest. What pushed her so far away the last time she saw Jane's daughters.

She forces herself to remember that those girls are Jane's entire world. Her everything.

 _Be brave._

"Hi, Jane," she says. Unsure exactly how to greet the girls, she just sort of repeats herself in an even smaller voice, "Hi, girls."

The girl on Jane's left releases her mother's sleeve and stares at the doctor with wide brown eyes. "Whoa," she says, reaching her little hand out, effectively confusing the doctor. She looks to Jane for help, but all she gets is an encouraging nod. As if that would tell her what to do.

The girl gets up on her knees in her chair and grabs the doctor's left hand with her right and tries to shake her hand. It is the most awkwardly formatted handshake the doctor has ever received, but she lets it happen, trying her best to ignore the stickiness of the hand gripping her own.

"I'm Charly," she says, almost boasting. "Charly Riz-Rizz-Ah… Rizzoli." The little girl seems to struggle with her last name, frustrated with herself for not getting it right the first time. "And you're Doctor."

"Maura," she manages to get out, "my name is Maura."

"Doctor," Charly insists then squints her eyes in suspicion, "you don't look like a doctor."

"I am," she says, shifting in her seat. She tugs lightly at the girls hold on her hand, but Charly holds fast.

"You look pretty. Not like a doctor."

Jane rolls her eyes and kisses the top of the child's head. "Kid, you got it all wrong." She meets the doctor's eyes across the table, "Doctors can be pretty too."

The blood rushes to her cheeks, and she can't help but look away to compose herself. Even with two weeks of Jane's light-hearted teasing, she still flushes rather easily.

Charly frees the doctor's hand and goes back to tugging Jane's shirt, "Mom, I'm hungry."

"For what?"

She shrugs, "I dunno."

While Jane lists off breakfast options to her daughter, the doctor glances over at the other little girl‒ Sophie. As twins often are, Sophie seems to be Charly's opposite. Her reaction is quite the contrast from her sister's. She seems less-than-excited to be here. Red crayon in hand, she colors the Eiffel Tower-themed kid's placemat lazily as if thinking about being anywhere else.

Jane nudges her with her elbow, "Say hi, Soph."

The girl looks up from her picture and offers a ghost of a smile, "Hi, Doctor."

"Hi," she tries, but it sounds weak and forced, and she hates it.

Sophie doesn't say anything more, but Jane shakes her head, "She's not much of a talker. Not even to me."

"Oh," is all the doctor can think to say.

...

They order, and a few minutes later Phil drops off their plates. He shoots the doctor a concerned look, and she wants to smile and tell him she is fine. But she doesn't feel fine. All the same, she nods again, signifying that things are at least alright.

The girls share a single chocolate chip pancake, Charly digging in like she hasn't seen food in days, and Sophie taking the time to cut small pieces with her fork.

"I'm taking them to the aquarium today," Jane says, finally speaking directly to the doctor.

"That's wonderful," she says, but her heart is not in it. She spears a piece of her omelet but doesn't bother trying to eat it. She knows where this conversation is going. Jane is going to invite her to the aquarium to spend the day with her and her girls. Fish. Sharks. Marine mammals.

She shudders slightly.

"Well, since it's your day off and all, I was wondering if you'd want to come with us."

Her grip tightens on her fork as she glances at the little girls. She does not understand why Jane would ask her to come along on what is so clearly a _family_ outing. But also she cannot blame Jane from thinking her invitation is innocent. How could she know?

"You don't have to," Jane says, doing a poor job of hiding the death of her enthusiasm, "but we'd really like you to come with us."

A pause.

"But I understand if you're not up to it."

She wants to spend time with Jane and somehow get to know her daughters. Just… not _there._

"It's not that, it's just..." she shakes her head, wishing Jane could just read her mind‒ a truly illogical, asinine thought.

"Oh," Jane says, smiling a little, "don't worry about them. They don't bite, right, kid?"

Charly bares her teeth and makes a growling noise, "Yes, I do."

"Oh, stop it. You don't."

The little girl giggles, ferocity melting into a tiny-toothed smile. "No, Doctor. I don't bite ever. Sophie too."

But the doctor is not at all worried about the fierceness of Jane's children. Jane doesn't understand.

"So?" Jane asks, head tilted.

"I..." she swallows, trying to push aside her fears. Breakfast with Jane is wonderful, but what if there was more? Layered and complex. Meaningful and real. Jane deserves more than a friend without an ounce of bravery.

 _It's just an aquarium..._

No one would even give her a second look when surrounded by marine life. More than that, she could get what she wanted last night. More time. More time with Jane. Perhaps she could forget, just for the day. A small chance. That's all it is, really. One little jump, and with Jane involved, there is almost no risk of falling.

"Okay," she says, eyes holding to Jane, "I'll go with you."

...

She was in the sixth grade when it happened.

The end-of-the-year field trip had finally come around. She had waited all year for that trip, keeping track of the days in her journal. She had sold the most candles and baked goods in their fundraisers solely for the purpose of visiting the aquarium with her class.

At that point, she was already away in a boarding school not too far from Boston. She didn't know it yet, but less than a week later she would transfer overseas and live with her mother in Paris.

But not soon enough, apparently.

...

The doctor meets them in the lobby area after spending eight and a half minutes in the parking lot contemplating just leaving. The second she saw the aquarium, she felt it. The icy pinpricks in her spine. The childhood memory, grimy, yet fresh in her mind. Like it was just yesterday.

Like it never stopped.

But she could not run away again and risk Jane's trust and forgiveness. She couldn't lose her so soon.

"Hey. Get lost in the parking lot?" Jane jokes when she sees the doctor.

She rubs at the unwanted corner-print from the carelessly pressed stamp with her thumb and tries to look like she wants to be here. And on some level, she does. She loves marine life and how the Boston Aquarium constructed tanks specially fit for the species within.

Of all places, why did it have to be here?

She glances around the empty lobby wondering where all the other visitors are.

"It's nine A.M, Maura. No one's gonna be here for a while."

Charly tugs at her mother's hand, "C'mon Mom, les'go. C'mon! C'mon! C'mon!"

"Just hold on a second, kid." She turns back to the doctor, "I know you don't like crowds, so I thought we'd go extra early."

"Th-thank you," she blurts too loudly in the quiet lobby. It echoes, sound waves pushing her further into herself.

"Hey," Jane says softly, "you're fine."

If only she knew.

"Mom! Doctor! Look! Look! Pingens! Pingens!" Charly screeches, hands flailing towards the Penguin Colony exhibit. The doctor remembers it well. Nothing has changed. Why would it? The world is not going to change for a traumatized sixth grader.

"Penguins," the doctor hears herself say. She automatically scolds herself for correcting an excited four-year-old.

"Pen-gwen?" Charly looks up at the doctor with expectant eyes, "Ping-gen?"

"Penguin," she repeats slowly, realizing that she has put herself in a corner.

"Pen-guin?"

"Yes, that's it."

But the little girl doesn't hear the doctor's confirmation. She is already halfway to the penguin exhibit, dragging her sister behind her. The building quickly acquires the fishbowl warp of little girl screeches in an open room. The doctor follows Jane to a bench facing the exhibit, and they both watch as Charly tries to get Sophie interested in the penguins. It doesn't seem to be working.

"You look nervous," Jane remarks.

She gives no response, instead, crosses her legs and takes to cleaning up the stamp on the back of her hand again.

"What's going on?"

Suddenly, the floor becomes fascinating to the doctor. The oceanic-themed tiles drag her eyes from Jane and hold them captive. Anything but Jane. Anything but those eyes.

"Maura?"

"I've been here before." Quietly. Quietly. Quietly. Maybe if she is quiet, she won't remember.

"Did you like it?"

She doesn't get it.

"I did."

"So what's the matter?"

She only means to glance up at Jane. Only means to take just an ounce of comfort. Just something to hold onto. But of course, Jane doesn't let her take only a little. Brown eyes hold hers in place, unlocked and free, but the doctor has no desire to drop her gaze.

"Something... happened to me the last time I was here."

"What happened?"

"It's... it's not important, really."

"If it's bothering you, it's important."

The doctor shakes her head, bewildered that Jane wants to know what happened. Her mother didn't question it. Neither did her teacher or anyone really. Unfortunate things happened to Maura Isles about as frequently as heartbeats, so why would they have noticed?

Oh, but now? Now, this is different. Someone _wants_ to know. And not just any someone. Jane Rizzoli wants to know.

"Look Soph! Look! That one is you!" Charly laughs, leaning over the railing to point into the enclosure below. Sophie takes a look in the direction her sister is pointing, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. But when Charly looks back at her to gauge her reaction, she frowns as if burdened by just being here. "I don't like _penguins_."

"Maura?"

She sighs heavily, "Jane, It was so long ago. It doesn't even matter anymore."

"Clearly, it does. I don't wanna push you, but you can tell me. I'm a good listener."

And she is. Everything about Jane is _good_. Great. Amazing. So good, the doctor cannot even begin the wrap her head around the fact that they consider each other friends. It's... surreal.

There is just one thing:

She will listen to the doctor until she has no voice, but never once has Jane Rizzoli shared anything about herself. Always about the girls or her mother, but never herself.

"Tell me something about yourself first."

That seems to surprise her, "What?"

"Tell me something first."

"Like what?"

"Anything. But it has to be about _you_."

Jane runs a hand through her hair, a habit the doctor has grown to count on. "I really don't like carrots."

"You know that's not what I mean."

She shifts around on the bench, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Will... Will you tell me about what you used to do?"

"No." It comes out so firmly, so suddenly, the doctor flinches away from her. It is the first time she had heard Jane's voice rise so much, and she already knows she never wants to hear it again.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, Maura... I..." Words failing, she reaches out to try to touch the frightened doctor.

Seeing Jane's hand come towards her, the doctor closes her eyes and braces herself just like she did eighteen years ago somewhere in this same place. She holds her arms out in defense, hoping she is fast enough.

"Oh, no, Maur... I'm not... I'm not going... You thought I was going to hit you?" She can hear the sorrow in Jane's words, but she can't bring her arms down. She can't open her eyes. She is waiting for the final blow that will toss her world into darkness again.

Again.

...

.

 **Eighteen Years Ago**

...

 _The room is dark to better showcase the haunting bioluminescence of the Ctenophora_ ‒ _the comb jellies. The student watches in awe as the creatures bob around in their tanks. She has separated herself so far from her class in hopes of enjoying the aquarium in peace. She is not treated well, but she tries._

 _She tries._

 _But they call her a freak. A weirdo._

 _The girl that talks to herself._

 _[Pretty.]_

 _"They are beautiful."_

 _She reads the glowing plaque to herself absorbing the information as if she is going to be tested. But just as she gets to the paragraph on where they are found in the wild, the exhibit door flies open, revealing an exasperated teacher's assistant._

 _"There you are, Laura! God, what are you doing in here! You can't just run off wherever you want. You have to stay with the group."_

 _[Maura.]_

 _"I know. She doesn't know my name."_

 _[Pretty.]_

 _"We have to go now."_

 _[Pretty.]_

 _"I'm serious. We really have to go."_

 _The teacher's assistant taps her foot impatiently, "Who are you talking to? Is there someone else in here?"_

 _"Just you," the student answers, shouldering her backpack._

 _[Pretty.]_

 _"I know, but we can't stay. We'll get in trouble."_

 _"Okay, who are you talking to?"_

 _"I'm talking to_ ** _Her_** _."_

 _"Who?"_

 _"_ ** _Her_** _."_

 _The TA grabs her by the backpack strap and pulls her out of the darkness. "You're a strange kid, you know that?"_

 _[No.]_

 _"I'm not."_

 _"Yeah, you are. You're talking to yourself in the dark."_

 _"I'm not talking to myself. I told you I'm talking to_ ** _Her_** _."_

 _"There's no one here. Aren't you a little old for imaginary friends? You're what? Twelve?"_

 _The student sighs. No one understands. She allows herself to be led, rather roughly, back to the group. They are all poured over the Touch Tank, leaning over the edge, trying to reach the creatures. The TA pushes her over to the rest of the group before disappearing around the corner._

 _[Touch.]_

 _"No, it's too crowded. We'll go in a minute."_

 _[Touch.]_

 _"In a minute."_

 _[Now.]_

 _So she does. She is still not used to the feeling of being taken over. Similarly,_ _ **She** __has not quite figured it out either. Their steps are awkward and uneven. They draw quite a bit of attention._

 _"Look! Look at the freak!" a girl shouts. Not just any girl, but Genevieve Lang, the biggest, meanest bully in the whole school._

 _[No laugh.]_

 _"Don't laugh at us!"_

 _"Us?" Gen scoffs, motioning her hands to get a rise out of her friends, "Who's us? There's only you, and your stupid head."_

 _[No.]_

 _"Don't say that!" she yells, her feet still taking her to the touch tank, towards the bullies._

 _"What are you gonna do? Fight us?"_

 _[Yes. Fight.]_

 _She swallows, "Um... Yes."_

 _The girls throw their heads back laughing_ ‒ _the whole group. She could never fight Gen. She is twice her size with meaty fists and legs that could kick the life right out of her. She knows it. But_ _She_ _will not let her back down._

 _"You really wanna fight me?"_

 _"Y-yes, I do." The words just fall out of her mouth before she can contain them. She is standing almost toe to toe with the biggest sixth grader she has ever seen, and she is quaking all over but not backing down. It's not bravery._

 _It's loss of control._

 _..._

 _She has no recollection of how it happened exactly. One minute she is standing up for herself, and the next, her feet are wiped out from beneath her. She doesn't remember the hands on her back, pitching her forward. She doesn't remember how on each she ended up in the water._

 _And she certainly doesn't remember whose hand is pressing her face into the sand, holding her underwater._

 _But she remembers the feeling of screaming for breath, her mouth and nose sucking in only sand and water. She remembers kicking so hard she loses a shoe and bruises her legs to the point of blackness. She remembers clawing so frantically, so helplessly for nothing._

 _And then finally..._

 _It's over. Someone pulls her out of the water. She falls to the floor, choking out salt water and sand. Coughs lurch her entire body violently, and she swears she felt better off when her vision began to darken underwater._

 _When she finally catches her breath, Gen's fist grapples the side of her face. The impact nearly topples her, and red-hot pain explodes from her jaw._

 _She opens her eyes and looks around, shocked to see that no one's laughing at her. In fact, they all look horrified. Then she realizes why._

 _Mrs. Bertotti._

 _Her teacher stands over her, taking in the mess made. The mess they forced to make. But she sees no blame in the other children. Mrs. Bertotti loves all her students. All but one. Her love skips over a genius twelve-year-old that talks to an invisible friend._

 _"Look what you've done, Miss Isles. Care to explain?"_

 _She cannot. Her throat is burning, and she can't remember her words. She can't save herself._

 _Mrs. Bertotti pulls her to her feet, shaking her head in disapproval. "I try to be fair with you, but you're impossible."_

 _[No. No. No fair. No.]_

 _"But... B-but I d-didn't do it!"_

 _She doesn't see it coming. No one does. She reacts, shielding her face with her hands, but she is not fast enough. The slap lands hard across her cheek._

 _"Don't raise your voice at me, young lady."_

...

.

 **Present Time**

...

The doctor follows the three at a safe distance. After the penguin exhibit, Jane apologized dozens of times for scaring her. She didn't do anything, but all the same, she said she was sorry over and over and over again. Her sincerity never once came into question.

It was a bad idea to come here. It's the strain. She can feel it on herself, and all she wants is a re-do. She wants to let Jane touch her. Comfort her. Take away this feeling. But she ruined it. She got scared. And now Jane believes she is some kind of monster in the doctor's head.

 _I already have a monster in my head. Believe me, you don't even begin to measure up._

They are moving closer and closer to the Touch Tank, and the doctor can feel herself getting sick. It's as if she still has remnants of salt water and sand in her lungs to remind her of the terror she felt that day.

In front of her, Charly finally manages to break through Sophie's shell. Had they not been wearing distinctly different colored t-shirts, the doctor would not have been able to tell them apart at this point.

"Mom! Mom! Mom! Look at the turtle!"

Sea turtles. They were so happy over _sea turtles_. If there were ever a perfect common ground...

She wants to join them. She wants to pretend she is part of their family, step up to the glass with them, and marvel at the sea creatures. But she can't. She can't make herself move from her spot ten feet behind them. She can't uncross her arms from her chest.

She can't even try.

"Maura," Jane calls softly, "look at this."

She points to something the doctor cannot see from her spot. "What is it?"

"Just come look."

"What is it?" she repeats.

"Please?" Jane reaches out again, still keeping a safe distance.

 _What is this?_

 _I don't understand_.

What kind of world offers so many second chances? Why does Jane keep insisting? It's so strange, yet intriguing. How can Jane be so forgiving? Somehow, she finds it in herself to take Jane's hand and look into the tank at a lazy-looking shark.

"What kind is it?"

This is the stuff she knows. Facts. Statistics. Names. "It's a sand tiger shark."

Jane moves closer to the doctor, presumably to get a better look. Their bare arms brush and the doctor nearly jumps out of her skin. But if she did that, she wouldn't be able to feel the way Jane keeps moving against her.

She points across the tank, forearm just brushing the doctor's abdomen through her shirt. Then something low in the tank catches her eye. She squats down, ribs and elbow sliding down the doctor's leg.

If Jane knew... If she knew what those little touches were doing to the doctor, surely she would stop forever. She would take a step away and drop all contact. Surely...

Or maybe she would keep doing it. Maybe she would keep pretending the fish interest her. Maybe she would stop paying attention to the creatures of the sea altogether.

"Jane," she says, interrupting the moment.

"Yeah?"

"I got hurt."

"What where?" Concern. Concern giving way to something distinctly different as her eyes take the long way from the doctor's feet, up those jeans‒ tight in all the right places‒ along the button track of her blouse, then finally resting on her eyes again. "You don't look hurt. You look amazing."

The doctor is thankful for the dim lighting as she feels the blood bloom in her cheeks. "Thank you, but I didn't mean… I'm not hurt now."

"So... before? When you came here?"

She nods, "Yes. I… I don't really remember what happened, but it was bad, Jane. It was... I..."

"What happened?"

Out of nowhere, she feels her throat close. She has never talked about it before with anyone. Not her nannies or guidance counselors. No one.

"I got hurt," she repeats.

"What kind of hurt?"

Useless tears blur her vision, but blinking does nothing but increase the pressure behind her eyes. Her body doesn't want her to talk about it, but she needs to. And Jane is the only person she wants to tell. She tries to swallow the thick lump in her throat, "Some girl... they were messing around. But it went too far. They hurt me, Jane."

Strong hands on her forearms, "What did they do to you?"

...

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, I never got to try it."

"Yeah, because some kid tried to kill you, Maura. That's not 'messing around.' She could have killed you."

The doctor is well-aware of this. She still does not understand exactly how she managed to survive the assault. She inhaled more than enough water to kill her, yet here she is today.

"And then... your teacher. Maura, why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I... I don't know, Jane. I was very young. I was scared it would happen again."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head, "No! Nothing like that ever again. I mean, the bullies never stopped, but they never tried anything like that."

"Why would they hurt you like that? I don't get it."

Because she was a freak.

Because she _is_ a freak.

The doctor takes in a breath just outside the door. Charly and Sophie already went inside eager to move on from the colorful fish, sharks, and sea turtles. This was their last stop. The Touch Tank.

"Are you sure?" Jane asks for the thirteenth time since the last exhibit.

"Yes, Jane… Really, you don't have to worry." As if that could ever stop her.

People began to trickle in about fifteen minutes ago, but none had made it back to the tank yet, and for that the doctor is grateful. She just wants to get this over with.

...

At the edge of the tank, the doctor looks over her shoulder, paranoid, looking for a threat. Instead, she finds Jane, smiling at her. Reassuring her.

"I'm right here."

Gripping the ledge with her left hand, she reaches out into the water with her right, just missing a sting ray by a few inches. On the other end of the tank, Sophie and Charly just splash the water around, squealing with glee each time a tiny shark or ray comes in their direction.

"You touch it!"

"No, you!"

A screech.

"Yuck!"

The doctor smiles a little at their happiness. She wishes her mother would have taken her to a place like this when she was their age. Or anywhere really. Just so she could have a handful of good memories apart from the terrible ones she has now.

She reaches out as a ray glides past, gasping as its skin-like scales slide beneath her fingertips. Pulling her hand from the water, she turns around with a wide smile.

"That was... gross."

"Pretty cool, though?"

She nods and presses her lips together to contain her smile.

Jane steps up to the tank and reaches out, grazing a tiny shark with her long fingertips on the first try. The doctor pretends to reach for one of her own as she watches Jane's hand skim the water. She watches the smile grow and fade from Jane's face each time another creature swims by.

 _This isn't so bad._

They have rebuilt the tank and now it is nowhere near as deep as it used to be. There is nothing to be afraid of.

But a glance in Sophie and Charly's direction proves otherwise. They are gone. She doesn't register the giggling coming from behind her and Jane until her legs go numb.

[Help?]

"Don't fall in!" they chime in unison as they push both Jane and the doctor toward the edge of the tank.

[Help?!]

 _...yes._

The last thing she sees is her hand shooting out before she falls into the blur.

Somewhere distant, she feels arms wrap tightly around her waist. Jane pulls her to her feet, not letting go even then. She searches the doctor's unseeing eyes for fear, panic, terror... anything. But there is none of that. And none of anything else either.

"Maura, are you okay?"

Nothing. The doctor is not there or anywhere.

"Maura?" Jane tries, her voice rising in worry.

"Doctor?" Charly tries, pulling on the bottom of her blouse. "Sorry, Doctor. Are you awake?"

Suddenly, she is rocketed back to the surface, as if her thoughts shoot so rapidly back into consciousness they smack against the inside of her skull.

The doctor shakes her head and blinks a few times. She furrows her brow as she takes in what's around her. Two curious little girls. An extremely concerned Jane. Seven numb fingertips. Jane's arms tight around her waist.

She is confused.

"Jane?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes…?" she says, blinking a few more times as her vision settles.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure... Are you okay?"

Charly pulls at her sleeve, "I'm sorry, Doctor. Sophie too."

The doctor tilts her head a little, her hands coming to rest on Jane's upper arms, "What are you sorry for?"

"For pushin' you, silly Doctor."

"Oh, that's alright," it comes out like a question, but the girls accept it nevertheless. Confused and a little disoriented, she offers her best smile.

She smiles to hide the fact that she has absolutely no idea what they are talking about.


	7. Eiskalt

The following Wednesday, the doctor oversleeps. The sound of her phone vibrating against the bedside table derails her dream and wakes her with a start. She reaches blindly for the device, nearly knocking it to the floor before getting it to her ear.

"Doct... Isles."

"Mornin', sleepy. You forget something?"

She rolls onto her back and presses the heel of her hand to her forehead, "Jane... Oh god, breakfast. What time is it?"

"Eight thirty."

"Please tell me you didn't wait."

Silence.

"I'm sorry, Jane," she sits up and swings her legs off the bed, groaning a little when the soles of her feet meet the cool floor.

"What was that?" Jane asks.

"What?"

"Never mind... I was just calling to make sure you're okay."

A hint of a smile crosses the doctor's face, "I'm fine, Jane. I just can't believe I overslept... I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I feel terrible. I missed our breakfast."

"Really, it's okay, Maura. We can just go tomorrow."

 _But I want to see you._

She squeezes her eyes shut, fist pressed to her temple. It isn't okay. How could she let herself sleep in like that? Lately, Jane has been the start of her morning. Just what she needs to get herself ready to face the day. But she is going to have to go without her today because something else proved more pressing than setting her damn alarm, apparently.

"Or we could do lunch if you want," Jane suggests.

The doctor answers too quickly, but she doesn't care. "Yes, I would love that."

"I'll pick you up at noon then? Where's your office?"

"I actually work below the Boston Police Department it's on‒"

"I know where it is. I'll see you then, Maura." She detects a sliver of sharpness in Jane's tone, but then again, she has been known to hear things that never existed. She must have imagined it.

...

Forty-five minutes later, the doctor swipes her keycard at the access point of the BPD lobby. For the first time in three years, Dr. Isles is late for work. _Late_. Though, she supposes this is what she gets for taking a long weekend.

[Rest.]

 _I can't keep doing this._

[Know.]

In her rush to get downstairs, she walks right past Detective Frost, despite his attempts to get her attention. He follows her at a brisk pace, struggling to catch up to the purposeful doctor.

"Dr. Isles?"

She looks over her shoulder apologetically, "I'm sorry, Detective, I need to get downstairs."

"Hold up, I'll go with you."

She would rather not spend an awkward trip to the morgue trapped in a box with Detective Frost. The man is incapable of standing in silence, instead always wanting to strike up some kind of small talk. But she can't refuse him. That would be rude‒ something she tries her hardest not to be.

"Sure."

He looks exhausted and for some reason, it pulls at her. "So how's your day been so far, doc?"

The doctor does not want to speak of pleasantries, the weather, health, or whatever else he could possibly come up with. It is difficult enough for her to share such a small space with the man. She knows he means well. He is a good man with good intentions. It isn't him at all. It's her inane fear of people and what they might do to her.

"Fine," she says quietly. So quietly she's sure he couldn't hear.

"Um, so how about this heat, huh?"

"Heat waves are not uncommon to Boston." She sounds mechanic and monotone, and she hates it. Is it hot outside? She hasn't noticed.

The elevator dings before he can think of any more questions. She flashes what she believes to be a polite smile, then hurries in the direction of her office, willing him not to‒

"Wait!"

Defeated, she stops and turns back to face him, "If this... If this is about Dr. Pike, I haven't seen him since the last time you asked."

Frost drops his eyes to the floor, shoulders sagging. "I guess no one told you, huh?"

"Told me what?"

 _Please no... Please._

"They... they found his body in the harbor Friday morning... I'm so sorry, Dr. Isles."

 _You did this! You killed him!_

[No. Save.]

"What happened?" she asks, shaking her head. She cannot fill in the blanks of that night, but she _knows_ it is only a matter of time before she doesn't need to.

 _The harbor? How could you be so stupid!_

[Save.]

"We've been working on his case all week, so I thought I'd fill you in once you got settled."

"What happened?" she asks again, grasping at memories she does not have. She shoves aside her fear of the man before her and looks him dead in the eye. She needs to know what _She_ has done.

"Well... Dr. Papov performed the autopsy, but it was pretty clear what happened. Someone did a number on him, doc, it was‒" Frost brings his fist to his mouth, his shoulders retching forward. For a moment the doctor fears he is going to lose his breakfast all over her morgue, but after a few seconds, he appears to have composed himself.

"But he would have survived the beating alone... had it not been for the ice pick," he swallows looking about ready to faint, "protruding from his chest."

 _Ice pick?_

"I don't understand."

"I'm sorry, doc. I know you worked closely with him."

She contemplates outing Pike for the criminal he was, but the admission would violate one of the rules she has grown to rely on. Do not speak ill of the dead. No matter what Pike was, he is no longer. He is dead, but she is certain she didn't do it.

 _Did you kill him?_

[No. Hurt.]

 _Then who?_

Silence.

"I understand if you're not up to assisting us on this, doc."

"I'm not sure I'd be of any help. Dr. Papov already performed the autopsy, and I'm sure Susie could help you with the information from Ms. Volchko, or any other test results. I suppose I could prepare the body for release if Dr. Papov is finished with him."

"Don't push yourself, okay? If it's too difficult for you, I'll tell Cavanaugh to request another ME."

The doctor is a bit stunned by his unrelenting kindness. Yes, Frost has always been the punchline of the "nice-guy" jokes around the bullpen and crime lab, but she has never paid much attention to any of that before. He seems genuinely concerned over her well-being, and it is certainly a strange feeling. "Thank you, Barry, but I'm fine."

He starts back toward the elevator, "Just give me the word if you change your mind."

The doctor waves vaguely back at him too caught up in her own mind. She wanders into her office, shutting the door behind her, securing the lock.

"If not you, then who? Who killed him?"

...

The doctor makes her way upstairs at twelve sharp. She has spent the past few hours trying to think of anything but Dr. Pike and her role in his death. Maybe she didn't kill him, but she certainly is not as innocent as Frost believes.

Obsessing over it isn't going to solve anything.

Besides, she has someone waiting for her.

...

Right on time. Just like always, Jane is already waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. The doctor wonders if Jane feels some shred of guilt from the night she could not make it. If so, she wishes she wouldn't. Jane owes her nothing, though she cannot deny she finds comfort in her reliability.

"Hey, you."

Jane pulls at the collar of her t-shirt as the doctor moves to her side. For the first time, she feels the raw heat everyone has been talking about. It hits her all at once, assaulting her airways and robbing her body of energy. All of the sudden, her navy cardigan feels like a winter coat. She peels it off and tucks it away safely in her purse, not that it makes much of a difference.

"When did it get so hot?"

"I've been in the morgue all day... I never realized..."

"Oh yeah? How was your day?"

She shifts uncomfortably in her dress, now fully aware of the perspiration forming a thin layer on her skin. The doctor prefers the snow and frigid cold. She can disappear completely in a trenchcoat dress or hide her hands in mittens, safe from the world. Summer means thin straps and skin. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes.

"Convoluted."

"Why's that?"

"There is a mystery that I don't think I'll be able to solve."

Jane shrugs, "You'll get it."

She gives a small grateful smile but drops her head before Jane can catch a glimpse, "You don't know that."

"Sure I do."

They are walking, though neither one of them wants to spend a second in motion. The heat is too much. The doctor feels weak, lugged down.

"Where is your car?"

Jane shoves her hands into her pockets but pulls them out immediately as she has no desire to warm them. "I, uh… I don't actually own a car."

The doctor stops walking, unable to speak and walk simultaneously in this weather. "But you drove to the aquarium."

The brunette stops as well and sighs, "I borrowed my mother's car for the day... I take the bus every morning when we meet for breakfast. I thought we could walk, but... it's too damn hot."

"Oh," the doctor says, reaching into her purse, "we can take my car."

Something like shame crosses Jane's face, and something in that wounds the doctor. She wants to tell her that there are plenty of adults without cars. She wants to give her facts and statistics because that's all she knows. Unlike... most everyone else, the doctor does not know how to connect on a level that is not scientific and logical. But something else tells her the last thing Jane wants to hear about is meaningless numbers.

"It's okay, Jane. We'll take my car. It's not a problem at all."

Jane nods almost reluctantly, "Okay."

An answer, yes, but it does nothing to soothe the strange feeling in the pit of the doctor's stomach. It's not okay, at least not to Jane.

"Jane," she says, daring to put a hand on the woman's arm, "really, it's okay."

A small smile, yet a victory all the same in the doctor's eyes. Something finally worked. She is learning more and more about this woman as time passes, but it seems each time she believes she understands her, something else surfaces. A new mystery, wrapped in another, hidden beneath dark eyes and messy curls.

She knows one thing for certain: she won't stop trying.

…

.

 **Two Weeks Later**

...

The heat endures. It is August now. Hazy, _sticky_ August. The doctor never truly understood the sticky part until she took one step out into the heat and humidity and immediately regretted her attempt at conscientious citizenship. In the time it took for her to run her recycling to the can on the street, she had worked up more than just a sheen of sweat.

Now inside the cool, air-conditioned haven of her home, she stands in her kitchen, downing her third glass of ice water in the past two hours. She started the day off in a dress and heels, surviving just fine in the chill of the morgue, but even the walk from the station to her car, then her car to her front door was enough to make her drop her clothes the second she stepped inside.

She now wears a white camisole and silk pajama shorts‒ a ridiculous outfit for daylight hours, but it's just _so damn hot_. All this fuss because her thermometer reads 103 degrees, just one degree shy of the record high in 1911.

It's _too_ hot.

The weather, the on-going investigation of Pike's death... everything. It's too much for the doctor to handle all at once. She even briefly considers taking a long vacation and locking herself away in her house until Pike's case runs cold. At the rate the detectives are going, they will never pin it on her. And why would they? She is the nervous medical examiner who cowers away from eye contact and handshakes. She couldn't hurt a fly, right?

 _Stupid. Idiotic. Inane. Asinine. Stupid... Stupid... Stupid._

Her phone buzzes somewhere amidst the pile of her previous outfit on the floor of the entryway. She roots through the pile of grey material, finally shaking it out of one of her dress pockets.

"Dr. Isles."

"Hey, Maura."

She leans back against the wall and stretches her legs out in front of her. For the first time since eight o'clock this morning, the doctor feels calm. Quieted.

"Hello, Jane."

"You said the wave would have passed by now."

The doctor sighs, "I never said that, Jane. But I'm not entirely sure this is a heat wave. Perhaps this is just the summer-high."

"Well, it sucks."

She smiles at her bluntness, "I agree." Though it must be so much worse for her. The doctor cannot begin to imagine what Jane and her family are going through right now: Jane's mother's house doesn't have air-conditioning.

The doctor worries not only for Jane but for her girls. The heat is dangerous. They should not be subjected to it, not when there is another option.

Jane had mentioned this during one of their breakfasts. Over meals turned fruit salad and yogurt as feeble attempts to cool their temperature-assaulted bodies. At first, the doctor did not process her words completely, but as a new customer entered the cool haven of the café, a wave of sweltering heat from outside washed in and reminded her of the literal hell cooking outside. And before she could monitor her words, she simply blurted out:

" _I have air-conditioning. You... and your girls are welcome to come to my home."_

" _I'll keep that in mind."_

"Maura, you there?"

"I'm here."

"I... well, I was thinking about your offer, you know, the one about coming to your house?" She sounds nervous, something she shouldn't be. It is not as if the doctor can resist giving her everything she has. Even if it's merely her cool air.

"I remember."

"I think I‒ we might take you up on that... if that's okay with you."

"Yes, of course, Jane."

"Is... about an hour from now okay?"

"Sure." She can definitely tidy up in an hour. There isn't much to do. Just pick up her clothes, maybe dust a little, sweep the kitchen, maybe run the vacuum over the living room... She could go on forever.

Jane doesn't care about that kind of thing. It doesn't have to be perfect.

She doesn't have to be perfect.

"Alright," she can hear the smile in Jane's voice. "Just text me your address and we'll invade your house soon enough."

"Invade?"

"Yes, invade. You'll see."

...

About an hour later, the doctor does see.

Charly has claimed the entirety of her living room floor with her strange combination of Barbies and a wooden train set. Her pretend train sounds and Barbie voices fill the air, making the doctor's home feel less endless and huge.

"Wanna play with me, Doctor?"

"I'm not sure I know how."

Jane smirks up at the doctor from her place on the couch, "Charly'll teach you. Won'tcha, kid?"

Charly nods, "Uh-huh. C'mon, Doctor. You make the circle."

She looks to Jane, "The circle?"

"The track," Jane clarifies, amused and sleepy. The three of them had walked all the way to her home from the bus stop three blocks away. In normal temperatures, that is nothing. But in this heat? The doctor could compare it more to a trek through miles of desert. Unrelenting. Scorching. Hot.

They are all tired. She can see it in Charly's droopy eyes and Jane's already closed ones. It is only a matter of time before all her guests fall asleep on her.

"I think I'm going to get some water first. Do either of you want anything?"

She gets a no from the both but gets up anyway to satisfy her own growing thirst. Even in the cool air, she feels prickly and bothered. She is not a fan of the heat, and it only seems to amplify as she ventures to the kitchen, ice rattling in her glass.

She sees Sophie.

Earlier in the evening, Sophie took to the dining room table with her felt-tipped markers and printer paper, far from the rest of the group. The doctor isn't quite sure what she is up to, but as long as the girl is content, all is well. Though she cannot imagine such quiet holds no mischief.

Walking into the kitchen, she stops to check on the child more out of curiosity than the need to monitor. Sophie draws wildly with both hands. So out-of-control, her scribbles miss the paper and mark the white oak table. But once a single line is made, the unsupervised child gets a little carried away. The doctor just watches it happen, not bothering to stop the mess happening before her. If anything, she is in awe of the collection of multicolored spirals and stick figures now decorating her table.

It's then when Jane walks in, immediately horrified at what her daughter has done: "Sophie!"

The girl jumps and drops the black marker from her hands‒ one that very suspiciously resembles a sharpie. Her eyes widen in fear, and before Jane can think of something to say, the girl works herself into tears.

"I'm s-sorry, Doctor."

But the doctor is not at all angry. A little surprised, maybe, but certainly not angry. An expensive table. An expensive house. None of this means anything to her. Not at all. Because if a little graffiti is the price to pay to have life in her home, she will take it any day. Though she does wonder fleetingly how a four-year-old could get her hands on a permanent marker.

"No, it's okay, Sophie..." Then she gets an idea. She takes a cautious step closer to the crying child and looks over the picture. It's truly a mess, but it doesn't matter. Not really. "If it were a bad drawing, I think I would be a little upset. But this right here," she points to a crooked flower-type plant, "this is excellent."

"Essalant?" Sophie asks, rubbing the tears away for a moment of clarity. She follows the doctor's finger to the plant as if looking at it with new eyes, "You like it?"

She does not know where to go from here. She has already exhausted the one thing she mustered up the bravery to say. She doesn't want to sound trite or fake. Not for her. Not for any of them. Now she would just have to rely on her own self. Not that that is ever a good thing.

Jane shoots the doctor a confused look as if to say: _You're really okay with this?_ And she is. This little mural is just proof to herself that life happened today. She actually could not be more pleased.

"It looks like you worked very hard on it. Did you?"

The girl nods bigger than needed, "Yes, I did. I worked for... for _a_ hour. A day!"

"I can tell. It's very pretty, but you know what I think?" she swallows, wondering where she is going with this, worrying she will say the wrong thing.

"What?"

"I think maybe you should make your next picture on a piece of paper. That way you can put it up on your fridge at home. Does that sound good?"

Sophie nods, absorbing her words like they are absolute truths. "Yes, I will. I will."

And with that, the doctor continues into the kitchen to fill her glass with the pitcher in the refrigerator. All the while her throat is screaming at her to move faster. But it's not only her body that's insistent.

[Drink.]

 _I will._

[Drink.]

 _She_ has stayed quiet throughout most of the evening, and even now _She_ is just a whisper. The doctor believes it is the closeness of others, the personal ties, the seals that keep _Her_ at bay. In check. Within reason.

She turns to carry her glass back out into the living room but instead turns right into the brunette standing close behind her. Ice water sloshes from the empty cup with nowhere else to go but straight for the doctor's chest. She gasps as the water comes in contact with her skin, but Jane is frozen. Not only frozen but staring at her.

White tank tops, flimsy bras, and cold water do not mix.

Or maybe they do.

She figures she should be embarrassed to be so exposed in front of Jane, shouldn't she? Should be making some kind of attempt to cover herself, surely... But right now she feels a strange surge of confidence. The timing is odd, to say the least. But she will take what she can get.

It takes Jane a few seconds to come up with words, and even then they don't sound like real ones. "I... uh, your... um. I..." Jane turns and faces the fridge beside the doctor.

"What?" she couldn't understand a single word.

"Maura, I... Well, I can see your… um" she trails off, turning red in the face herself.

She shivers a little as she begins to feel the cold air piercing the now-useless garment. Water drips from her tank top down to the floor, and with it, she feels that slight jump in confidence crumbling. Naturally, she would not be able to keep it.

"Here," Jane says, then starts to peel off her own t-shirt. She has a white tank of her own underneath. Always one for layers, even in this heat. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything, Jane. I should have been paying attention." The doctor slips the shirt over her head, effectively covering the sheer fabric beneath.

Jane finally looks her in the eye, "I just wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

She points over in Sophie's direction with her thumb, "For that. You handled it so much better than I did. And I promise I'll find a way to get it off your table."

"No," she says, voice low, "you don't have to do that."

"What? You want scribbles all over your table? What if you have a fancy dinner party or something?" A joke, of course, but like always, she doesn't get it. She does, however, almost laugh at the idea of a dinner party. No one has ever come over to her house. She has lived here for three years, yes, but she hasn't had a visitor in five.

"There are no dinner parties."

"No?"

"Never. You're the first and only guests I've had in a long time." She loosely quotes Jane's words in hopes of truly pressing her point.

"And we're practically tearing apart your house... I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, trying to get Jane to listen. "There's nothing here of any value to me. It's just a house. It's _just_ a table." In truth, Jane and her girls could rip up the floorboards, color on the walls, and shatter all the windows‒ she wouldn't mind. Just so long as they are here, and she is not alone with _Her_.

"Please don't go." The words are out before she can even think about them. Frail. Delicate. Pathetic. She must sound so crazy in Jane's ears.

[Weak.]

Jane glances back at Sophie. The little girl's hand has stopped rapidly spinning around the paper, meaning that the little girl has fallen asleep right on top of her artwork.

"I'm not going anywhere, Maura."

...

Upon further investigation, they find Charly asleep as well. She is in the living room with her face pressed to an intersection in her train track. Jane chuckles at the sight, but with Sophie already in her arms, she can't pick up the other little one.

"You wanna try?" she asks the doctor.

"I... I'll mess it up. She'll cry, Jane."

Jane shrugs, "Kids forgive. I think you'll be alright."

"What if I hurt her?"

"You won't," Jane smiles at her, and that seems to be all the push she needs.

She kneels beside the child and tries to figure out how to go about moving her. She hasn't been around a child since her rotation in pediatrics years ago. Though that is not to say she doesn't like children, but it is to say, they don't like her. Her talents have fallen into more finite, narrow categories. These are most certainly unchartered waters.

"Charly?" A whisper.

Nothing.

"Charly," she repeats, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder and giving her a slight shake.

"Muh-uh," the girl mumbles.

"Charly, you're asleep on your toys."

"Mm-hmm."

"May I move you?"

"Mmmoctor."

The doctor makes a low humming sound that sounds surprisingly… comforting. It seems to work because Charly rolls onto her side and holds her hands out clumsily in front of her. The doctor tries to mimic the way she saw Jane scoop Sophie into her arms earlier, but it is much more difficult than Jane made it seem. Yes, she manages to get the drowsy child in her arms, but not without dragging her little feet through the train track and scattered dolls.

Now what?

"Jane, she won't let go."

"Well, what did you expect? You picked her up."

"What am I supposed to do now?"

Jane rolls her eyes, but smiles all the same, "Just give her to me."

"I'm trying." And it is true. The doctor _is_ trying to hand off the child, but it seems Charly has no intention of letting go. Though unable to bring herself to admit it, she doesn't want to let go either. Even if only minute, this is more progress that she has made in what feels like forever. With children, with people. She dares to think she has made a small friend out of the child, or at the very least someone to feel less wary around.

And that is certainly a good place to start.

…

Some time later, made immeasurable by the child curled in her lap, the doctor's phone buzzes on the end table. It is loud and unfamiliar in the comfortable silence they have created together. Careful not to wake either child, Jane reaches for the phone and passes it to the doctor. Who, in turn, considers letting it go to voicemail.

She would never guess, but she doesn't have to be clairvoyant to know it's work. It's _always_ work. But that is what comes with the title of Chief ME. And there is only one thing a call at this hour could mean: another body. Murder or not, the next few hours of her life belong to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

She hangs up and checks Frost's message thread for the location. It serves as a finalization of her attendance and a reminder of the importance of her job, something she shouldn't let slip so easily out of sight.

Charly stirs against her, probably sensing she is about to be moved. As much as the doctor would like to stay put and just have them enlist the help of another ME, she knows that leaving this quiet comfort is the right thing to do. Besides, something tells her this will not be the last time she sees them.

"I have to go to work," she whispers to Jane.

"We should get going too. It's getting a little late."

 _No…_

"Stay."

The word falls from her mouth as the most composed thing she has said all evening. At least in intonation. The feelings behind _stay_ are never composed. Always tinged with grey, with longing and fear. Gripping desperation.

"What?"

[No.]

 _Just… Please let me have this._

[No. No. _No._ ]

 ** _Yes_ _._**

No response. Has she won? Without even trying? No way. It's not a real victory. It's a ruse. It _has_ to be. It's _never_ this easy.

 _I know you're still here._

Silence.

It isn't possible. _She_ doesn't just go away like that. There is always a fight or bargaining chip of some sort… but there is nothing. Less than nothing. _She_ is just… gone.

She clears her throat awkwardly, trying to mend the word-bullet she just blasted through Jane. "I mean… You're welcome to stay. I'll only be gone a few hours."

Hesitation sets into her companion's face, and the doctor recognizes the feeling immediately. That reluctance, that lack of trust. It's all too close to home, too real. It's like looking in a mirror.

She presses on, taking care to tread lightly, "It's hot, Jane. I can't, in good conscience, let you go back there… I have guest bedrooms… It's alright."

Jane shakes her head, but not like _no thanks, doc_. More like she can't believe what she is hearing. She looks faintly incredulous, something the doctor could have never imagined. Was her offer truly _that_ baffling?

"Really?"

"Of course, but I'm afraid I need to get going. I should only be two or three hours," she says quietly as she moves out from underneath Charly as gently as she can manage.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, I…" _Do **not**_ _lose the words…_ "I _like_ having you here‒ all of you… and I hope that you will realize that my invitation is not exclusive to tonight, but for… as long as you wish." Her nerves take over as she hears the words come out. They are clinical and robotic. They remind her of the world she grew up in. "But of course, you don't have to. If you would rather just go home, I underst‒"

"We'll stay."

"You will?"

Jane looks up and nods just once, something thick in her dark irises. "Yes."

Of all the scenarios she constructed in her head, she didn't account for one critical component. She didn't plan on a Yes. Hell, she didn't plan past asking. And now she has a Yes?

What on earth does she do with a Yes?


	8. Ricochet

**Three Weeks Later**

...

Music.

The doctor hears music.

Strange notes carry into her ears and coil themselves into the outer edges of her dream. The shrill tune slowly drags away the last of her unconsciousness, and she awakens in complete darkness. Complete, save for the illumination coming from the floor beside her bed.

 _What_ ** _is_** _that?_

[Help?]

 _No..._

She moves over to the opposite side of the bed and cautiously peers over the edge as if any sudden movement would provoke some sort of attack‒ a motion-sensing monster straight from the abyss of her mind. Fantastical, of course, but the doctor can never be too careful.

But there are no monsters. No ghostly family members.

No threat.

Instead, lies a messy-haired child propped up on her elbows, her face a mask of complete and utter concentration. Her little thumbs swipe back and forth across the doctor's phone causing animated explosions and fast-paced changes in the music. She mumbles words under her breath as things don't seem to be going her way.

The doctor smiles a little at the sight. It's not the first time she has woken up like this. Each time it seems to be a new, freshly downloaded game that captures Charly's eye during her early morning adventures in the doctor's house.

"Charly," she whispers, startling the little girl into dropping the phone. The girl looks up to her, all smiles as usual.

"Hi, Doctor."

"Hi." She rests her chin on her crossed forearms, "What did you get this time?"

"I dunno, but it's so _cool!_ I getta fight the bad guys, an' I have superpowers!"

"Really?" The doctor isn't quite sure what any of this means, but it appears to make the child happy. So in turn, she is happy as well.

"Uh-huh," she rubs her eyes, "an' you can go to the planet an' save the... save the puppies..."

The doctor glances at the clock on her bedside table and shakes her head a little. It's nearly two o'clock in the morning. Charly shouldn't be awake, let alone saving the puppy planet. Sometimes the doctor finds her around six or seven, but occasionally she finds her at times like this one.

"Charly, I think you need to go back to bed."

"But... I wanna play."

"You can play in the morning if you would like, but you should be asleep right now."

"But you're not sleeping."

"I should be too." She sits up and slides off the bed, "Come on, I'll take you to your sister."

"But, Doctor," Charly whines, just like she does nearly every morning. Unlike her sister, the little girl absolutely detests sleeping. She's always fighting to stay awake not wanting to miss a second of the 'fun' the adults have once her eyes are closed.

She's not missing much of anything really.

The doctor extends her hand for the child to take, waiting patiently as the girl starts a war with herself. It has been this same little routine every night‒ morning, rather‒ for three weeks, and from what she can tell, it's not ending anytime too soon.

"Okay." The little girl takes the outstretched hands and allows herself to be led across the hall. Nerves jump inside the doctor. Even though this has very much become their routine, she still fears the child will turn on her. She fears Charly with fight against her for real, and tell Jane what a monster she is for taking away her game. She lives in fear that Jane will change her mind and leave.

Leave her house, yes, but even more so:

Leave her.

It has only been three weeks, but even now she cannot imagine living in a home without them. Without voices and _life_ to chase _Her_ away. Contact. Knowing she can just walk out into the living room and _see_ them for herself. It's beautiful, but she cannot help but wonder when it will end. It is, after all, a temporary situation.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?" she says, her mind returning to the child tugging at the bottom of her tank top.

"I'm thirsty."

"I'll go get you a glass of water," she says softly.

She pulls back the covers and helps the girl onto the bed beside her sister, who, as Jane says, sleeps like a rock. Sophie doesn't even stir as Charly settles rather noisily. But then again, nothing ever seems to wake her. It usually takes Jane a few minutes to coax the girl from sleep each morning.

The doctor pulls the blankets back over the girls and turns to leave. But before she can make herself go, she glances around the guest room. The dreadfully plain guest room. Everything is simple and white. So _grown-up_. Upon first glance, no one would ever guess a pair of four-year-old girls called it their own.

...

She fills a small plastic tumble cup‒ one of the set she had bought on a whim last week, thinking the girls would like the little cartoon characters printed on the sides. Returning the pitcher to the fridge, she pauses for just a moment, smiling at the sudden recollection of how this came to be.

It started with that beautiful Yes almost four weeks ago. The night Sophie had added her artwork to the table. The first night Charly had invaded her living room with more toys than the doctor had ever seen in her life.

The night Jane stayed.

…

.

 **Three Weeks Ago**

...

 _The call in the night takes her to a nightclub so eloquently named The Rat. The doctor does not understand young people. What joy could be had in an establishment named after vermin? But it isn't the name that matters._

 _It's the girl who was found dead inside that does._

 _Detective Frost holds the crime scene tape for her. She knows for a fact he hasn't been inside yet. He still has some color in his face, and his shoes appear clean and free of vomit. Though he does look properly grim. So much so, the doctor begins to steel herself._

 _"Hey, doc."_

 _She gives her usual nod. She is not one for small talk at the scene of the crime. When in control, in charge of a situation, she is massively put-together. Professional. However, this extends no further than her work. Casual social interactions are the water that dissolves even the best of her covalent bonds._

 _"Sorry it's so late. Papov didn't pick up."_

 _"It's fine."_

 _They walk side-by-side into the now brightly lit club. Though only hours ago the place must have been pulsating with bass-prominent music and massive strobe lights. Now the torches and portable floodlights cast the hang out in cold, clinical light._

 _"Hey, Queenie, it's this way," Detective Crowe calls, motioning her towards the restroom. Darren Crowe is new to BPD. New to Boston, newly promoted from the drug unit. But no one could tell at first glance. He fell so quickly into the ways of those around him. He has already caught on to her unofficial nickname_ ‒ _Queen of the dead. His partner, Sleeper, offers the doctor a polite smile as she passes, and she returns the gesture the best she can. She cannot imagine what a partnership with Crowe entails. Sleeper is one extremely unlucky man._

 _Fearless, she makes her way into the bathroom. At first, she doesn't see the girl. Instead, her eyes fall upon the grimy mirrors, spray paint-afflicted walls, and chipped tile. A thick film of filthy water and the remains of cheap brown paper towels covers the floor. It's revolting, yet the doctor pays little mind._

 _She focuses on the red stiletto-clad foot sticking out of the furthest stall. She moves closer, taking in the vomit-caked woman, face streaked with what is very apparently blood._

 _"Oh god," she hears Frost croak from behind her._

 _"Woah, buddy. Who let you in here?" Crowe says. His mockery is not lost to the doctor, even though she cannot see his face to analyze the true meaning of his words. Ninety-eight percent of everything that comes out of his mouth is pure ridicule and stabbing sarcasm._

 _She imagines Frost losing his dinner out in the street and Crowe and his buddies laughing at him. But in here, there's nothing to laugh about. She is the very paragon of composure. There is no choice. She has no options. Because if she is not, who will be?_

 _..._

 _The doctor leaves the scene two hours later. It's nearly midnight, and she wants nothing more than to shower off the crime scene and forget everything she has just seen. A girl is dead, though there are no obvious signs of foul-play. Most likely, a textbook overdose, but the whole truth will have to wait until autopsy. All the same, flagrant misfortune._

 _[Sleep.]_

 ** _I know._**

 _[Sleep.]_

 ** _I will._**

 _Cool air wraps around her, smothering the heat still hanging in the air outside. In her lethargic trek through her home, she forgets all about her guests. It takes the neatly packed bag of train parts on the coffee table to finally jog her memory._

 _Jane._

 _The girls._

 _She finds them in the larger of the two guest rooms. And what a relief it is to lay eyes on them. The overhead light burns above their sleeping forms_ ‒ _Jane with an open book resting in her lap, a daughter clinging to each side of her. They are a beautiful family, one the doctor never wants to take her eyes off of. But even she knows there is something unacceptable about watching as others sleep._

 _So she turns out the light and quietly makes her way back to her own bedroom._

 _..._

 _The next morning the doctor wakes to find a note on her bedside table. She reads it, then springs out of bed faster than she's ever done anything in all her life. Bare feet, heels thudding against hardwood floors. Frantic. Hopeful. Horrified._

 _The guest room._

 _Empty._

 _The kitchen._

 _Empty._

 _The living room._

 _Empty._

 _The doctor sinks into the couch and draws her knees into herself. It was all too good to be true. All of it. She shouldn't have let herself believe in the fantasy that they would all wake up and have breakfast together at the table with groggy eyes and bright smiles. She shouldn't have believed Jane wanted to stay with her in this terrible house. They are gone._

 ** _This is why I do not assume._**

 _[Told you.]_

 ** _I know you did._**

 _[See?]_

 ** _I do._**

 _She runs her thumbs over the note in her hands, reading the simple message over and over until she has a million and one different interpretations in her head._

 _'Thank you. -J'_

 _..._

 _Later that night, the doctor calls, timidly asking if they still have breakfast plans for the next day. It already took her the better part of two hours to even touch her phone, let alone make the call. She could feel herself faltering with each nervous word to leave her mouth. No one ever accused her of being even just okay at confrontation. Smack in the middle of Jane's response, she decides to spill herself._

 _"Why did you leave?"_

 _Silence._

 _"You... You didn't even say goodbye." Her words sound desperate, lonely, and pathetic in her ears, and maybe they are. But they are the truth, and she cannot lie. The words begin to flow out of her at an alarming rate, leaving nothing in their place. Hollowing her._

 _She feels it. Now she feels it._

 _The freezing coils threatening to constrict her heart. Her chest tightens and tightens with each second suspended in silence. Her pent-up words masked the hurt, redirected her senses, protected her. But now those words are gone, out in the air, rattling around in Jane's ears, and not doing much protecting from anything._

 _Vulnerable. She is more so than ever._

 _"I just don't want us to be a burden, Maur."_

 _The icy coils grip her heart and pain explodes from her chest. There is no logical source of this pain. The only thing she understands is that it is there. It wasn't there before, but it is now. And. It. Hurts._

 _"N-no."_

 _"Maura... It was nice of you, really. But I don't want to take advantage of you. I don't want to overwhelm you."_

 _The frigid coils_ ‒ _now more tentacle-like than anything_ ‒ _weave through her ribs, wrenching her apart from the inside, and destroying her vitality. She is weak, growing fainter by the second._

 _"I... I wanted you here. I_ ** _want_** _you here, Jane... all of you."_

 _"Maura..."_

 _She only has one shot. One go at this before she cowers into herself and loses the three of them. She opens her mouth, blindly trusting herself to somehow succeed. To somehow capture and formulate words to describe what is ricocheting in her mind. To somehow incinerate the ice encasing her organs._

 _To beat herself._

…

 _It isn't until they meet for lunch three days later when Jane mentions in casual conversation that she is looking for a place to live. It's so subtle, the doctor doesn't even pick up on it until she begins to elaborate rather fully._

 _"I have two kids, no money, no job, no car, and I live with my mother, Maura. What I really need is to get back on my feet. I've just been... I don't know... floating maybe."_

 _The doctor perks up, absolutely illuminated by an idea, "You could stay with me."_

 _And true to her nature, Jane turns her down. But the doctor knew she would. Jane is the type of person that wants to do everything herself without any help from anyone. A nature that makes her truly admirable, yet even more frustrating._

 _"I couldn't ask you to do that. To open your home to us like that."_

 _"You didn't ask. I offered. There's a difference."_

 _"Maura, really. It's too much. I'll figure it out, but thank you."_

 _The doctor spears a spinach leaf, trying her best to hide the wave of disappointment that just engulfed her, "If you ever need a place... I'm here."_

 _"I know you are," Jane says, flashing a smile that almost thaws the newly formed permafrost within the doctor._

 _Almost._

…

 _Two nights later, the doctor sits with her legs tucked under herself. The world is lost to her as she annotates the latest issue of the_ New England Journal of Medicine _. There is the most enthralling article on a new line of safer organic sutures_ ‒ _not that a doctor in her line of work has any use for absorbable stitching. Regardless, the doctor is captivated._

 _So captivated, it takes three soundings of the doorbell and six solid knocks to get her attention._

 _With a large amount of uncertainty, she answers the door, nearly stumbling over herself as she sees them. Three wild-haired brunettes with backpacks hitched over their shoulders. The girls each have a handful of their mother's shirt, and Jane... Jane looks..._

 _"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry."_

 _"Come inside," the doctor urges. They need to get out of the heat._

 _[No.]_

 ** _Yes._**

 _[No. Leave.]_

 ** _They're not going anywhere. Please, just leave them alone._**

 ** _She_** _fades, but that's to be expected._ ** _She_** _is a petty little thing. If_ ** _She_** _doesn't get her way **She** throws a fit presumably in the back of the doctor's mind. But the doctor has won, for now, and that might be all she needs. _

_Charly bounds into the house, probably eager to start taking over the living room with her toys again, and Sophie follows her at a slow, but curious pace. They are fascinating. Virtually indistinguishable on the outside, but not-so different on the inside either. No matter how hard Sophie tries to hide her excitement, the doctor sees it in little flashes. Charly, however, is much more open with her enthusiasm._

 _The doctor helps Jane move their bags in the entryway. She offers her a smile, but it doesn't get the desired effect. Quite the opposite, actually._

 _Jane backs against the wall, shaking her head and muttering words the doctor doesn't understand._

 _"Jane? Are you alright?"_

 _"I'm sorry," Jane murmurs through what appear to be clenched teeth._

 _"What are you sorry for?"_

 _"Maura."_

 _"Jane? Is everything okay?"_

 _"I'm sorry I didn't call... I'm sorry I just showed up here, assuming you'd let us stay. I just_ ** _had_** _to get my girls out of there."_

 _"What happened?"_

 _"Every night, Maura. Every damn night they scream at each other." She pinches the bridge of her nose, her eyes screwed shut. "If it was just me, that would be fine. I can handle it. I grew up with it. But my girls, Maura. I don't want them to think that's all there is, you know?"_

 _The doctor tries to piece together what Jane is trying to tell her, but it's not coming to her. She doesn't understand, but she wants to help_ _._

 _"They shouldn't have to know what it's like to always hear yelling in the next room, to have to tune it out and pretend like everything's okay. They're just kids, Maur."_

 _"Okay," she says gently. "It's okay. They're okay now."_

 _The doctor wonders fleetingly if she is in any way comforting Jane. She has nothing to go off of, but she is trying her best. It would be nice if Jane's face registered any kind of confirmation._

 _"And you don't need to apologize," she continues, fearing that if she stops for even a moment she'll lose her momentum, "I... I meant it when I said you're welcome to stay here."_

 _"Just a few nights and we'll be out of your hair, I promise."_

 _"Stay as long as you need. Really."_

...

.

 **Present Time**

...

The doctor blinks back to reality, realizing she must have lost herself for a moment. It's doubtful that Charly is still awake at this point, but she takes the water cup in her hands anyway. She tiptoes past Jane's room, trying not to make a sound, but houses‒ no matter the cost or value‒ always creak and groan, especially when those noises are unwanted. She has not memorized all the squeaky floorboards as she did in the home of her youth. Before, she had no reason to keep herself quiet. No one to care gets a good night's sleep.

Unsurprisingly, she returns to the girls' room finding them both fast asleep. Even wild little Charly couldn't resist the fluffy pillows and soft sheets. She sets the glass on the bedside table, keeping it far enough away from the edge to avoid any accidental spills‒ a lesson in need of learning just once.

Messy hair tangled over her eyes, Charly looks so calm, and maybe even a little satisfied with herself. She has taken the blanket from her sister, leaving Sophie exposed to the cold. It's like this every night. Charly the blanket-hog and poor little Sophie. But not even a dramatic change in temperature could wake the girl. Still, the doctor sighs and retrieves the extra blanket she keeps in the bottom drawer of their dresser specifically for these nightly occurrences.

She covers little Sophie with the soft blanket, making sure to tuck it in just so in case of any tossing and turning in the night. Unable to resist, she kisses her fingertips and presses them gently to Sophie's temple.

Slowly, she backs her way out of the room, careful not to disturb them in any way. Her intentions are almost foiled as her shoulder collides solidly with the door jamb on her way out.

"Whoa, are you okay?"

She jumps as a hand presses gently against her‒ possibly bruised‒ shoulder blade. It's nothing too bad. Just a dull pain, receding more and more each second Jane touches her.

"You're awake," the doctor whispers, still with her back to Jane.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Is there something wrong with the room? The mattress? Because I can order anoth‒"

"No, Maur. Everything's fine... Everything's perfect."

The doctor feels another warm hand press against her back. She doesn't understand how it's possible, but the pain seems to liquefy and melt away as Jane grips her shoulders.

"So why can't you sleep," she asks, finally remembering what words are.

"Sometimes I just can't. Nothing I can do about it."

"Have you tried meditating?"

"What? No."

"Studies show that just twenty minutes of meditation can significantly reduce cortisol levels, even more so when combined with an upright task such as yoga or tai chi," she doesn't recognize the words as they escape her lips. Fact-filled tangents are somewhat of a reflex at this point.

Jane's hands grip a little tighter on her shoulders, and the doctor's eyes fall shut. "You're better than Wikipedia."

"Wikipedia is frequently incorrect. Very little is rigorously peer reviewed," she blurts out, voice too loud for the quiet house. "I'm sorry."

She hears a low chuckle from behind her, but before she can fully interpret it, Jane presses both palms to her slightly injured shoulder. "Better?"

"Um..." She cannot seem to remember how to give an affirmative response. Time runs out for her brain as Jane takes her silence the wrong way. She removes her hands and takes a few steps back.

"'Night, Maur."

She wants to spin around and explain herself.

To reach out and grab Jane.

To tell her that _everything_ feels better with her around.

But she can't find her words. They're somewhere locked behind her teeth, and she isn't quite sure where she's left the key‒ that is; if there even is one. But within seconds, Jane is gone again, tucked away in her room, leaving the doctor alone in the hall.

"Goodnight, Jane," she whispers into the darkness.

...

The doctor wakes this time not from music but from a clammy little hand pressed firmly to her cheek.

"Doctor? Doctor! Doctor! Doc-tor! Doc-oc-oc-oc-tor!"

It's not going to end. Charly could go on like this for days, so the doctor cuts herself a break and sits up, acknowledging the girl.

"Can I play your phone?" Direct. Why follow the path of the maze when you can just zoom right through it?

She cannot say no to that perfect little face. To see Charly disappointed would nearly shatter her heart. She wonders what Jane would think of this‒ her inability to say no to the child. Surely she'd think the doctor spineless. Surely...

A simple nod is all the child needs, but instead of jetting out of the room like she has every other morning, Charly vaults herself onto the doctor's bed.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"I wanna show you my fighter."

"Fighter?"

"Renemmer? I toldju 'bout my new game?"

The doctor vaguely recalls their conversation from around two in the morning. Something about a puppy planet... or something. Though two A.M. seems a little early, especially for creating concrete memories. She cannot be sure what she heard.

The little girl settles herself against the doctor's right side and holds the phone out so they both can see the animated character bouncing back and forth on the balls of its feet, waiting for action. From what the doctor can tell, it's not human. A strange creature cast in ferocious caricature.

"See? I named him 'D' 'cause I think that's what Doctor sounds like... I can't read yet. Didju know?"

"I... I think you'll learn to read in school."

The girl nods, "That's what Grandma says. Oh! Watch this."

The doctor watches as the animated character begins to flit around the screen at Charly's command. Concentration takes over the girl's features‒ eyebrows knit, little tongue peeking out. If the doctor understood anything happening before her, she might have been amused.

"I don't understand. What is the object of this game?"

"The wuh?" Charly looks up at her, confused like _Doctor, I'm a kid._

"The point?"

"Oh! I toldju already. To save the puppies."

"What are you saving them from?"

"Um... Aliens. The mean ones. But there's nice aliens too, I think. I dunno."

 _This makes absolutely no sense._

 _What is the value in this?_

"Charly? Where are you, kid?" Jane calls from out in the hall. She peers into the girls' room but finds nothing.

The little girl lets out a small giggle as she wiggles beneath the covers, effectively hiding herself from her mother.

"What are you doing?" the doctor whispers.

"Shh. Peetend you can't see me."

Now this? This is an odd request. The doctor cannot wrap her head around the possible reasons for wanting to hide. Children are, she decides, _inexplicably_ confusing.

The doctor stares nervously at the child-shaped lump beside her. Obviously, Jane will notice right away. There is absolutely no point to any of this, yet she can feel herself wanting to see what happens. To see how Jane goes about her daughter's little game.

"Hey, Maur, have you seen Ch‒" Jane pauses in the doorway, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "You wouldn't happen to know where Charly is, would ya?"

"I... um. Well, I don't see her right now." Technically true. She sees her shape under the blanket, not Charly herself. Still, the half-truth makes her shift uncomfortably in her skin.

"Hmm. Well, then I guess she ran away. I'll just have to give all her toys to the needy."

Charly makes a noise of protest and flails out from under the covers. "What? No, Mom!"

"Ha! Found ya, punk."

Charly crosses her arms and juts out her bottom lip, "Not fair."

"Is too. Now c'mon, Doctor's gotta get ready for work."

The little girl leaps off the bed and sprints out the door leaving Jane in the dust. She is right, though, the doctor will be late if she doesn't get moving soon.

"Hey, you," Jane says, tossing her a smile.

"Good morning, Jane." The doctor pushes the covers off herself and gets to her feet. All these early morning resets with Charly are starting to get to her. It's hard enough for her to find sleep some nights, but she can't be mad at the little girl. She's just curious.

Jane smirks at her, "You're wearing my shirt."

She is, and has been nearly every night since Jane gave it to her. She never really thought much of it, and only now does she realize that what she's doing might be a little odd. But what is most strange to her is that she seems _attached_ to it. Reluctant to hand it over.

"Would you like it back?"

"Nah. You keep it. Looks good on you," Jane says as she heads for the door. "Oh, and I made you some eggs. They're on the island."

"Um, thank you." It's awkward, but she means it with everything she has left.

"It's the least I could do.

...

 _She_ subsides. At least at home. Jane and her girls seem to do something to _Her_. Scare _Her_. Immobilize _Her_... Something. But... it's never that simple. It isn't as if _She_ can simply be distinguished or lessened. If limited at home _She_ will find other times to awaken. Other times to take over.

Like work, for example.

The doctor stands, scalpel poised above the flesh of a John Doe. She is yet to make an incision for two reasons. One‒ there is a phone vibrating like mad in someone's pocket, and two‒ that pocket belongs to a Detective Darren Crowe.

She cannot get anything done with him around, leaning over her shoulder, breathing down her neck. He claims he is observing, but the only thing he seems to be _observing_ is the doctor herself.

"What're you waitin' for, Queenie? Cut 'im up."

She wants him out. _Now_.

[Away.]

 _I know. I want that too._

[Away.]

 _I can't..._

[Away!]

 _Please, no. Just wait for him to lose interest._

But _She_ doesn't wait. _She_ never waits.

[Leave. Him. Now.]

She feels the familiar tingling in her toes, robbing her of all feeling. It's happening. _She_ is winning. The numbness creeps up her legs, dulling nerve endings, leaving nothingness.

"D-d..." she stammers, trying to warn him to leave.

"What? Words, Queenie. You know, like English."

She can't feel her hands. It's getting faster. Worse.

[Away.]

 _She_ doesn't like him and with good reason, but that is no excuse to hurt him. Sure, he is unsavory, but he doesn't deserve the fate _She_ has planned. The doctor is closer to him, though she doesn't remember moving. Scalpel still in hand, she can only imagine what's going to happen next.

 _No. No. No. Please, don't do this. You don't understand!_

Another step. Crowe shoots her a confused look.

"Whatcha doin' there, Queenie? C'mon, I don't got all day."

Closer.

Closer.

So much closer.

Behind Crowe, both doors fly open in unison. Sleeper rushes in followed closely by Detective Frost and Sergeant Korsak. Crowe spins around, and the doctor, regaining full control of her body in a quick, painful _snap_ , drops the scalpel.

 _You cannot kill him... Or anyone! It's not okay._

[Away.]

 _She_ is so stunningly thick-skulled. So dense, the doctor doesn't even know how to explain to _Her_ that killing is not the answer to every question.

Korsak speaks first, breaking the strange silence caused by metal striking linoleum. "Just got a call in, there's been another murder in Southie."

Crowe scoffs, "People get murdered all the time in Southie, let the idiots down there handle it."

"I would love to, but this isn't some robbery gone wrong, Crowe. This is the same guy that took out one'a our own... sorta. Ice pick straight through the heart. You wanna just let the _idiots_ in Southie handle that?"

Crowe holds up his hands in somewhat of a mocking surrender, "Alright, alright. C'mon, Queenie, you can ride with me. Looks like we've got a serial killer on our hands… Either that, or a regular Abe Reles."


	9. Paternal

Crowe's unmarked smells of gym socks and greasy french fries, which would have been mostly acceptable if not for the sharp pine-scented air freshener. The doctor makes herself as small as possible, trying to ignore the fact that her new Louis Vuittons are now buried in fast food wrappers and other things she doesn't want to think about.

She is thankful Crowe doesn't try to engage her in conversation, but just because he's quiet doesn't mean he is any better than usual. There is no logic behind it, but she swears she can feel his eyes. They stop at a red light, and she forces herself to look at him for the first time since the morgue. He is fanning himself with some car magazine, but it doesn't seem to be helping with his excessive sweating. Perspiration diffuses into the material of his shirt under his arms and drips from his hairline.

"Heat's a bitch," he grunts, wiping his sweaty palm on his pants. He grips the wheel again, thick, corded muscles flex beneath the skin of a hairy forearm. Veins pop out on the back of his palm as he grips the steering wheel tighter.

He notices her eyes and chuckles, "See somethin' you like, Queenie?"

"No," she answers simply. _Not at all._

She imagines his touch is rough. Those beefy arms and calloused hands couldn't possibly hold any sort of tenderness. Though it really doesn't seem like Crowe is capable softness. He prides himself on his masculinity, which is wonderful. For him. But honestly, the doctor is bored of him.

"So is there a Mr. Queen of the dead?"

She bristles, "No, I'm not married."

"Attached?"

She folds her hands in her lap and presses her thumbs together firmly as a feeble attempt to stop herself from fidgeting. Crowe has never shown any sort of interest in her life before, and now that she cannot escape, he decides it's the perfect time to get to know each other? How perfectly convenient for him.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just wonderin'." He flashes perfectly aligned, paper-white teeth, "But you never did answer my question."

She opens her mouth to tell him that she is not attached. That she's alone. But the words themselves lodge in her throat, thick and heavy like... like a _lie_.

She's not alone. Not even close. She certainly feels attached to the Rizzolis‒ and that is technically what he's asking... But deep inside the doctor knows he is asking if she has a romantic partner. Something‒ someone‒ she has been lacking for quite a while now.

"Well? You got an answer for me, Queenie?"

"Um..." There is a truthful answer, but she cannot make herself admit it. It's none of Crowe's business anyway. Though that doesn't change the fact that she feels like she needs to tell him every overanalyzed detail that has been rocketing around in her head for weeks now. She feels the overwhelming urge to overshare and just get everything off her chest.

"Well, I..."

"Complicated, huh? That's rough."

Complicated? It seems to click into place. It might actually be the perfect word.

Of all the social interactions she has sent to hell in the past, she has learned one thing that works, even if only a little. Return the question.

"And you?"

"Me? Nah. Nothing too serious. Just got out of a nasty divorce. Wi‒ _Ex-wife_ got just about everything, and I gave it to her. Just so long as she'd shut up about it. I gotta tell you, Queenie, married life ain't what it's cracked up to be."

It is no surprise Crowe has adopted the mentality that marriage is a prison. The doctor wouldn't be all too shocked if he started talking about how it is unnatural and against human nature. And for the most part, he would be right. But she has always had a very particular‒ if not romantic‒ view of marriage. A symbiotic relationship built on love and trust, working against nature among other odds. To her, that would be something ultimate.

But she can never have that. Not with the monster sewn into her very soul.

"Well... monogamy isn't for everyone," she says, fighting the despair wanting to cling to her words.

"You can say that again."

"Why would I repeat myself?"

He rolls his eyes, "Queenie, it's just a thing people say sometimes. You know what, never mind."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't sweat it. Ya know, I'm no so bad once ya get to know me."

She nods, not fully taking his words to heart. Still massively uncomfortable in this situation he has somewhat forced her into, she can't help but hesitate. After all, _She_ tried to kill him earlier. There must have been a reason _She_ felt so threatened.

 _Is he good?_

[No know.]

 _He seems genuine. Rough around the edges and a bit tactless... but genuine._

[No like.]

 _Maybe just a chance?_

Nothing.

"Don't talk much, do ya?"

She shakes her head. It's true. This is the most she has spoken on the clock since her predecessor gave her the position. But lately, she has been breaking through all her borders. Why not this one too?

"I suppose I don't, but... maybe I could try to change that." Her words are small, but hopeful. As reluctant as she is to let her guard down around anyone, if she is going to be working with Crowe often in the future, she might as well try to at least get used to speaking with him.

...

About twenty minutes later, they pull up in front of a fitness center. The sign mounted above the entrance is burned out, but can be vaguely made out as Ronnie's Raquetball and Fitness Center. From what she can tell, it's small and most likely family-owned‒ which would make a murder of this caliber on the premises rather problematic for the future of the business.

They duck under the police tape meet Korsak, Frost, and Sleeper outside the entrance. She reaches for the handle, a little surprised they wanted her to go inside first. It's usually the opposite.

"Dr. Isles?"

"Yes?" The blood flushes to her cheeks, letting her know she has done something mildly embarrassing. But just one little thing could keep her up for hours wondering why on earth she was so stupid.

"It's this way." Korsak jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "Vic's out back."

This time, she follows at a safe distance, not wanting to embarrass herself further. Korsak leads, walking with effortless authority. It's easy for him... for all of them. They circle around the gym, and sure enough, there he is.

For the first time since she started this job, she has to turn away. It's not particularly gory or sickening, or really anything of the sort. If anything, it's a rather tidy crime scene.

"Are you alright, Dr. Isles?" Frost asks, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. Usually, he is the one in need of turning away.

Out of habit, she flinches away from his touch. "I'm fine. It... It just surprised me a little."

She turns back to the body and holds in a sigh. A proper initial examination simply could not be done at this point. What with the victim upright and fastened to the metal service door. Someone from CSRU had already propped the door open as the man was facing the interior of what looked to be an office. But now he is visible to anyone who happens to drive by the small lot behind the gym.

The doctor moves closer to the body, intrigued yet frightened at the subtle theatrics of his death. Clearly, his killer wanted him to be found, but why?

Another step closer, and she pauses again. It's jutting out of his chest at a rather crude angle.

 _The ice pick. Just like Pike. Could it be...?_

Without thinking, she reaches out and wraps her hand around the wooden handle. The second her fingers come in contact with the handle, she jumps back and hisses as if she's been burned.

She wasn't wearing gloves.

"Whoa, Queenie. You okay?" Crowe asks, his words kind, but his tone never dropping anywhere near sincerity. Maybe that's just who he is. Everyone seems to have their own line of defenses.

She shakes her head, feeling more out of it than ever, and lately it has been getting worse. She has been trying to cope by taking more notes and photo evidence as her mind and memory fail her more and more each day. This deterioration seemed to come out of nowhere, but it's taking its toll. Here she is contaminating evidence‒ the probable murder weapon, no less‒ with her DNA. What's next? Performing an autopsy on a live patient?

"I need to get him down," she says, absently wringing her hands out in front of her. She can still feel the splintery wood pressed into the pads of her fingers.

"Alright, alright," he turns to Frost. "Hey, Frosty! Make yourself useful and get some techs over here. We're gonna cut 'im down."

...

"The heat must have increased the rate of rigor mortis. That combined with internal body temperature... Estimated time of death is between twelve and fourteen hours," she says almost robotically. Only after putting on two pairs of latex gloves and tying her hair back did she feel comfortable going anywhere near the victim. The last thing she wanted to do was cause any more contamination.

It was such a ridiculous mistake. One, not even some of the most oblivious rookies make. What is coming over her?

She gets to her feet and instructs her team to bag him and transport him back to the morgue. The autopsy will have to wait until morning. It's late, and she has already upset herself enough tonight.

"Hey, Queenie, it's late. I don't wanna go all the way back to the station. Alright if I just drop you off at your house?"

 _And risk you finding out where I live?_

She looks around for someone else she might be able to catch a ride with, but everyone is gone. They have all cleared out, eager to get home to their own lives. Crowe is her best and only bet at getting home tonight. Better him than a cab driver or a bus full of strangers. At least she knows Crowe... sort of.

"That's fine."

But it's not. She is going to worry about her car all night long. It's safe in the BPD back parking lot, sure. But who's to say someone doesn't steal it in the night, break her windows, or slash her tires. Or maybe someone would take her mirrors! She read in an article once that a group of college students in Pennsylvania spent three years stealing mirrors and selling them for tuition money. What if she fell victim to something like that?

 _Who would do that?_

"Um, are you alright over there?" Crowe asks, bringing her crashing back to reality.

 _Yes. No. I don't know._

She merely shrugs, leaving it open to interpretation for the both of them. All she really knows is that she needs to get home.

...

After nearly an hour of driving in what she knows to be circles, Crowe finally gives up and lets her give him turn-by-turn directions to her home. Before, he claimed he could find it on his own. This was not the case. When they finally arrive, she thanks him sincerely but _quickly_ , hoping he doesn't feel the need to walk her to her door.

He does.

She walks at a brisk pace, but he easily matches it. He is a hard one to shake, and if she is being honest, he's unintentionally making her skin crawl. It's not his fault. Not completely. She's not comfortable with him, but he just won't give up. To be fair, she hasn't told him to back off yet. Perhaps he hasn't yet noticed the message tattooed on her forehead, embedded in her words, and inscribed in each and every look she gives him.

Movement inside her house catches her attention. She looks over just in time to catch a child ducking out of sight.

Charly.

Thinking the doctor has looked away, the girl pokes her head through the gap in the curtains once more and smiles widely. She presses her little hands against the window probably calling out _Doctor_ by the way her mouth is moving. The little girl turns and says something to someone behind her.

Far above Charly's head, the curtains part again, and Jane peers out, smiling just like her daughter. The doctor cannot wait to get inside and see them all. She lifts her hand to wave at them, but Crowe interrupts her.

"Nice night, huh?"

She doesn't see Jane's smile fading at the sight of Crowe, or her stepping away from the curtains. And she definitely doesn't see Jane retreating back into her room, nearly tripping over the coffee table in her rush. All she sees is Detective Darren Crowe still trying to win her over.

Trying... and failing. Maybe one day, but that day is not today.

"It's a little too hot for my liking," she says, then turns back to find only Charly smiling at her. She gives the girl a little wave, but it's not as enthusiastic as it would have been had Crowe not distracted her.

 _Jane..._

Crowe follows her eyes to the window. "That your kid?"

She shakes her head, "No. She's staying with me for a while."

"She family?"

The answer, of course, is no. Charly is not her family, but the doctor cannot find it in herself to tell that to Crowe. "She's not related to me by blood if that's what you're asking."

He holds up his hands, clearly, as Jane would say, weirded-out with her. "None of my business. I got it."

They make it to her front door, and it's terribly awkward. At least to her. Crowe appears more in his element than ever. But just when she thinks he's going to leave, he keeps going. "Nice place ya got here, Queenie."

"Um... Thank you, Detective Crowe."

"It's Darren."

"Right... Thank you for the ride, _Darren_." She fishes her keys out with much less fumbling than she anticipated, which is perfect. Now he can't get the wrong idea. "Goodnight."

He nods, finally understanding that the only thing she wants from him is for him to get off her doorstep. In the kindest way possible, of course.

"'Night, Maura."

She flinches a little at his use of her first name but manages a polite smile before slipping into her house.

...

"Doctor! Doctor! Doctor!" Charly greets, going straight for her purse. "Can I play your phone?"

She is not even inside for ten seconds and Charly already skips over all greetings and just jumps directly to what she really wants. The doctor extracts her phone from the inner pocket of her purse and hands it to the child anyway. She still can't say no.

"Thanks," Charly says, taking the phone. But instead of running off like she usually does, Charly grabs the bottom of the doctor's blouse, "You were gone _all day_ , Doctor."

"I was at work."

"But... I didn't see you."

"I'm sorry." It's all she can think to say, but it's not the right thing. It feels wrong. Close, but wrong. She glances at her watch and frowns. It's late. Too late for a four-year-old to be awake. "Where's Sophie?"

"Sleepin'. Mom said I could wait for you... 'Cause I missed you a lot, Doctor."

"I... I missed you, too."

She doesn't realize the truth in her words until she says them. She missed Charly and Sophie and Jane. They are all she could think about all day at work, how she wanted to see them and spend the day with them rather than with bodies and lab techs. A thick lump forms in her throat just looking at the little girl.

Charly lifts her hands above her head and waits, but the doctor has no idea what this means. She just stands there in silence until Charly finally gives her a hint.

"Up."

"I don't think that I sh‒"

"Up!" Insistent like _now, Doctor._

"Um, okay." She does her best to lift the child off the ground, but it's awkward, and she nearly drops her twice. Charly couldn't care less, though. She seems contented, and the doctor cannot figure out why. The child nestles her head into the space between her neck and shoulder.

"I missed you, Charly," she whispers. She already said it, but she just wants to make it clear.

Charly settles into her and closes her eyes, and the doctor focuses solely on getting to the girls' room without falling on her face. It's all she can do not to fall apart at the seams.

...

A few minutes later, she finally manages to get Charly to let go of her and tuck her into her bed. She wipes at the tears that have escaped her eyes, feeling ridiculous for ever having shed them. But no one has ever missed her before. It's overwhelming in the very best sense of the word.

Exhausted physically, but especially mentally, she returns to her own room, finding comfort in her nightly routine. But it only serves as a temporary distraction. In truth, she's worried. Something is happening to her, and it's only getting worse. Just as things started to look up with Jane and her girls, something else has to come crashing down. She can't think straight.

Just hours earlier she probably set them back days by contaminating the murder weapon. Never before has she ever touched anything without gloves on. She used to pride herself on her technicality and thoroughness. She can't afford to make mistakes like that. There is a killer on the loose, and she's doing nothing but holding back the investigation.

She places her palms flat on the bathroom counter and closes her eyes.

 _What is happening to me? Are you doing this?_

[Yes. No.]

 _Well, which is it?!_

There's no response. She might as well give up. If _She_ doesn't feel like talking, _She_ won't. The doctor opens her eyes and jumps back from the mirror. From the cold eyes staring back at her.

Why is it always her mother?

"What are you doing here?"

"You wanted me here, darling. I'm just answering the call."

"Why won't _She_ answer me? What's happening to me?"

Her mother looks sympathetic, but nothing more, "Don't you see, darling? You're disturbing _Her_."

She blinks several times, trying to get her mother to disappear. That's not the answer she wanted. She wanted something fixable.

"Your life with Jane and her daughters... it's pushing _Her_ away."

"But isn't that a good thing?" It's what she has wanted all her life, but never had the courage to admit. Yes, _She_ is a sort of permanent accompaniment, but also the heaviest burden imaginable.

"No... You don't understand. You're fading, darling. That's because if _She_ goes, you go too. _She_ is... well, _She's_ sealed to you."

"Sealed to me?"

A sad nod. "Yes."

"But that means..."

"I'm afraid so, darling. That's how _She_ works."

 _ **She's**_ _going to take everything either way!_

 _If I push them out of my life,_ ** _She_** _will just keep doing what_ ** _She_** _has always done._

 _But if I let them stay,_ ** _She'll_** _take my mind away?_

Her mother gives a ghost of a smile. A sad attempt at reassurance, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, darling. I know how much they mean to you."

She closes her eyes again, forcing herself not to picture the world without them. That would completely break her heart. She just got them in her life, and now they are supposed to leave?

"No."

"Fighting is useless, Maura. _She'll_ kill you."

"Then I'll let _Her._ I can't let them go... Not now. I can't..."

When she opens her eyes, she is alone.

...

Jane's door is halfway open.

She is sitting on her bed, pouring over a newspaper, and the doctor is certain the world is lost to her in this moment. She could knock or just walk right in, but both attempts seem rather clumsy. She is awkward enough on her own and would like to avoid any enhancement in the matter. Unable to decide, she just stands there for a few moments, relieved when Jane finally notices her.

"May I come in?"

Jane hesitates, but it's just enough to dislodge the glimmer of hope in the doctor's chest.

"Sorry to bother you... Goodni‒"

"No, wait. Come in, Maur."

She steps inside but makes no attempt to move any closer. Exhausting her welcome is not something she wants to fall into right now, even if it's unintentional. Jane's eyes don't waste any time meeting her own, but there is something different this time. Something less open and friendly... less Jane-like.

"Are you okay?"

 _"Are you okay?"_

 _Okay_ has always been miles and miles away, at least with Jane, it feels a little closer. No less unreachable, but closer. Less hopeless.

"I'm fine." Fine isn't even the half of it, but it will have to suffice.

"Look, if this is about Charly. I could start putting her to bed. She just... she really likes it when you tuck her in. But I can just tell h‒"

"No, it's okay. I... I like doing it." The lump in her throat returns, but maybe it never left.

Jane's head tilts to the left. Curious. "Then what's wrong?"

Is it that obvious there is something wrong? She would like to believe she is good at hiding herself, but Jane sees through her like she's not even trying. It's unnerving. It's comforting. It's everything.

"It's just... I... She..." The doctor tries to swallow, but it hurts too much. She shifts uncomfortably on her feet and traps her bottom lip beneath her teeth. She knows what's coming. She is going to reduce herself to tears and then what?

She doesn't know.

"Maur?"

There it is. That little _Maur_ was just enough to push her over the edge.

A single sob escapes through a crack in her hastily assembled armor, and that's all it really takes to render her walls useless. Just thinking about what Jane must be thinking provokes another wracking sob. Why did she come in here? What was she trying to accomplish?

"Hey." It's so soft at first, she thinks she just imagined it. "Maur. Hey, what's wrong?" This time, the hands on her shoulders let her know it's real.

There are so many things behind the tears, but she couldn't possibly begin to tell Jane the half of it. "She... she said she missed me."

"Who? Charly?"

"Yes... She misses me, and she waits for me, and I haven't done anything to deserve that."

"That's what you're upset about?"

She nods. It's definitely one but not all.

"Oh, Maura. You've done so much for her‒ for all of us. You let her run wild in your house, you let her download all the games she could ever want on your phone, you gave her a room... Maur, you deserve her love."

 _Love_?

"Okay, what else? I know that's not all of it."

"I..." she wipes at her tears, trying her best not to look as hopeless as she feels. "I messed up at work today. It's very possible that... that I've ruined a murder investigation."

"What happened?"

"I may have contaminated key evidence."

"Maybe you didn't. Maybe there was nothing on it in the first place. Maura, it's not the end of the world. You'll find some other way. I know you will."

"You sound so certain."

"Well, maybe I am. C'mon, you're a genius. You'll find something."

 _And every day with you that is fading._

But looking up into those warm brown eyes‒ the eyes she not too long ago thought could pierce right through her, shred right through her grey matter‒ she knows that it might just be worth it. She could be happy. But why does she have to give up a part of herself?

"Thank you."

Jane reaches for her hand, "'Course, Maur."

She squeezes Jane's hand and nearly falls apart when the pressure is returned. It's such a small act, yet it is eons ahead of what the doctor knows so well.

Jane pulls her in by their tethered hands, stopping only as the doctor's shoulder bumps into her chest, the soft collision nothing short of grounding. The doctor looks up, eyes green and grateful, and it's Jane's arm around her waist that tells her without language that everything will be okay.

It is of her own volition that she presses into Jane's lean frame, circling her arms around her middle. Jane responds in full, pulling the doctor in closer and lowering her lips gently to the top of her head. For a moment, everything seems to slow down a bit, and as if one wasn't enough to elate her, Jane presses another kiss just at her hairline.

Before the doctor has the time to react, Jane's mind seems to catch up with her body. She tenses and untangles herself, taking three good-sized steps back.

She might as well have ripped the doctor's heart as well.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Maura. It's just... I saw you with that guy, and I don't wanna start anything."

 _Guy? What guy? ...oh._

"You mean Crowe?" She could almost laugh at the idea. He is not at all what she is looking for.

"I dunno. The guy who gave you a ride home."

"That's _Detective_ Crowe. He dropped me off on the way back from a crime scene, Jane. We're not involved."

Jane presses the heel of her hand to her forehead, "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"In that case," she says, shaking her head possibly to rid the preexisting mental images, "get back over here."

She cannot move her feet fast enough.

…

The next morning, she slides her key card at the checkpoint in BPD ready to fight this meaningless erasure. She had spent a few hours of the night curled up beside Jane, helping her sift through newspaper-advertised jobs. Then earlier this morning the four of them sat down together for breakfast for the first time since they started staying with her. They all rode the bus with her to work this morning so she wouldn't have to be alone, and before she came inside, she took a few minutes to check on her car. It was fine.

Now as she makes her way down to the morgue, she feels optimistic for the first time in a long time.

..

.

 **Two Days Later**

...

The DNA results from the handle of the ice pick come back. She had put them through just to make sure she didn't completely ruin a crucial piece of evidence. She had sent in her own DNA to ensure there was no confusion, hoping desperately that she didn't destroy even the smallest partial print.

What she finds is even more disturbing.

The results come back with two sets of DNA. One is hers, of course. And with staggeringly similar autosomal profiles, the other...

The other is so close to a match to her own, it could only be paternal


	10. Tangeret

Jane finds a job.

The doctor doesn't want to admit it, but she is a little disappointed. They are now one step closer to leaving. The thought makes her sick to her stomach, but Jane says she needs it, and there isn't much the doctor can do to convince her otherwise.

It's a mechanic job at an auto repair shop.

" _I didn't know you liked cars."_

" _There's a lot you don't know about me."_

She does not understand the appeal at first, or really at any point. Even as Jane explains to her that she grew up down the street from the family that owned it and that she'd always had a way with machines. Still, the doctor doesn't want to imagine Jane anywhere she can't find her on a moment's notice.

If she had her way, she'd keep Jane in her house forever. Safe. Secure. All hers. No one else's. Not the world's. Not the auto shop customers'. Just hers. As selfish and irrational as that is, the doctor cannot shake the fantasy from her mind. She doesn't want to let her go.

...

They spend a great deal of time in the kitchen selecting a babysitter for the days they both work. Jane suggests they just hire the neighbors' sixteen-year-old daughter a few days a week, but the doctor insists they interview a half dozen others as well. She does not want Sophie and Charly in any danger, no matter how small.

"What about that Caretti girl?" Jane asks, so done, so clearly _done_ with their search. "I liked her."

The doctor wrinkles her nose, "No... She wasn't certified in CPR."

"Okay, then what about that other one? Ricci something."

"She wasn't certified in pediatric first-aid."

"Kelly Perotti?"

The doctor sighs, "I don't know, Jane."

"I remember her being certified in _both_ first-aid and CPR. She was a nice girl. What's wrong with her?"

She leans one hip against the island and taps her finger against the glossy photo on Kelly Perotti's application. Yes, application. Somehow she managed to convince Jane they needed the girls to fill out applications.

"I... I just don't think Sophie would like her."

Charly likes everyone. But Sophie? Not even close. And Kelly Perotti? Sophie would absolutely hate her.

"How do you know that?"

She looks down at her bare feet, toes painted a shiny purple to match the dress she'd worn three days ago and tries to identify what is slinking around her airways. Fear, she decides. She is scared Jane won't understand.

"I don't think she is compatible with… Sophie's needs."

Brown eyes soften, mirroring that first day out in the parking lot of the grocery store. Nearly four months ago, yet still fresh in her mind. The doctor will never forget those first imperative moments of tenderness.

"Because...?" Jane coaxes, voice gentle, words loose and comfortable, not unlike those ratty t-shirts she favors. The vocal equivalent, perhaps.

The doctor is stilled at the inquiry. In truth, she isn't sure _why_ exactly. When they teach you how to navigate, they tell you your map is your most important tool. That maybe you can get by without a compass. They can't ensure you'll never get lost, never get mixed-up and confused by your own human error. But there is no map, no compass rose, no guide to human interaction. In which case, _how will the doctor survive?_

"I'm sorry," she blurts out. "You can pick her if you want. She's perfectly qualified, and it's..." the next part pains her to say: "it's none of my business anyway."

"Hey." Low. Quiet. Gentle. "Hey. C'mere."

She doesn't move. Maybe she can, but she doesn't even try. Instead, she searches for words to somehow string into the world's most perfect sentence. One that can get Jane to look at her like she isn't spineless delicate or more things she probably is anyway.

"Hey, you." _You're stuck inside your head again, you know that?_

A step closer, dark eyes warm and inviting. Just two more steps and they will touch. Hands might brush. Arms. Shoulders. Or maybe they will skip over limbs altogether. Another step and the doctor lets out the breath she has been holding since the last time she spoke. She tries her hardest not to flinch as Jane's hands come to rest on her upper arms.

She is unsuccessful. Always the impractical navigator.

Flinching is ugly. It is a disgusting reflex. Something so ingrained in her muscles, she is sure she will never overcome it. Jane shouldn't have to see her when she does something ugly. She deserves the very best version possible. Not the grimy truth.

Hands grip her forearms, sliding up and down as if they are parts in a factory making liquid comfort to bottle and sell. So long ago, the doctor cut out all her soft parts and left them to wither away, so no one else could do it themselves. But now she wants them back. She wants to be soft and beautiful and _right_. Good and okay and _everything._

"It _is_ your business. _They_ are your business. You just want what's best for them, and so do I, alright?"

They haven't been this close since the night Crowe dropped her off. At first, it's unnerving, then it's ten times worse.

She pulls away from Jane, wrenching herself out of her grip. Away. Away. Away. It's another ugly reflex. Like flinching but worse. Uglier. Dirtier.

 _No... no... nononono. Please._ _ **Please**_ _..._

"Hey." Again. "Hey, Maur. Come back to me... I'm not going to hurt you."

But everyone does. Everyone has. Indirectly. Directly. But all intentionally one way or another. Maybe they will never know. She would never tell, and they never live long enough to find out for themselves.

"Maur?" Worried. Why is she worried? "It's okay. I'm not mad at you."

Her hands find Jane's chest, fingers splayed wide like _get back._ She thinks of the last time she felt so vulnerable, but the memory falters. _She_ has destroyed it in an effort to keep the doctor in one piece.

Destroy the soft parts, so there's no way to die.

Fingers curl into Jane's t-shirt. Careful and gradual. The words leave her mouth slowly, but she is determined to get them out. To get it right just once.

"Help me." _Make it go away. You're so good at that._

"Okay. How can I help?"

She untangles a shaky hand from Jane's t-shirt and reaches for her hand. Fingers brush and entwine gentle at first, but the doctor doesn't need gentle. She doesn't _want_ gentle.

"I'm here for you."

 _Then prove it to me. I don't know where I am._

 _Crush me. I want to feel you in my bones._

She presses the back of Jane's palm against her chest, breathing too quickly. Her other hand shakes free of Jane's shirt and pushes harder against their hands until the emotional ache in her chest becomes incredibly, physically real.

She presses harder.

"Maur?"

Harder. Her arms are quaking with the exertion.

Jane tears her hand away, but before the doctor does anything she will regret, Jane captures her entire body at once. Tight and all-encompassing, it is a severe embrace. The kind that might just be able to hold her together until she figures out how to do it on her own again.

"There are better ways to feel. You don't have to hurt," she whispers fiercely, and it's wonderful because sometimes it's the broken glass that saves you.

The doctor buries herself in Jane, taking in every part of her because she knows they will have to let go. At some point, Jane will let her go.

"Jenny Mead, she mumbles into Jane's shirt.

"What?"

She dares reach out with one hand and point to an application atop the island. "I want Jenny Mead to watch the girls."

Palms press more firmly into her back as Jane shifts their weight to glance at the application. The doctor can tell she doesn't so much as look at the picture before meeting her eyes again.

"Jenny Mead it is."

...

Jane works on her only day off. They see each other every night and a little more on the weekends, but she misses those lazy Fridays they all used to spend together in the living room or the backyard. The days she would spend inching closer to her on the couch, while the televised cartoon devoured the girls' attention.

Friday morning, she intentionally wakes before Jane and the girls to make them breakfast. Jane has always been the one to cook. There was no rhyme or reason, she just wanted to. But today would be different.

She wants to make them the most beautiful breakfast they have ever seen.

Only she doesn't know where to start. She grew up with chefs and nannies to cook for her, and even now, she goes out to eat or Jane cooks. Once, when she was seven, Rosa taught her how to make pancakes. But she has long since forgotten.

She can't do this. What was she thinking?

 _But I want to do something for them..._

"Then you cook for them, lucero."

She jumps and spins around, eyes landing on the wrinkled, smiling face of her childhood nanny. She forgets all about her screwed-up head and rushes toward the woman. That scared six-year-old child takes over her limbs as she launches herself into a hug that can't exist.

"Rosa!"

Her hands pass right through the elderly woman as if she is a mirage, and her heart drops into her feet. "You're not here." _Crazy. Crazy. Crazy._

"No. You're not crazy, baby," she says, moving closer with that limp the doctor remembers well, though not a story Rosa was ever willing to share. A hand raises to touch her face, and for a moment, the doctor swears she can feel those familiar rough fingertips against her face.

"Yes, I am. Look at me. You're not really here. I'm talking to myself."

Rosa shakes her head, "Maybe not as bad as you think. Come on. I show you."

"Show me what?"

"What you know, lucero. We cook."

...

They cook. Or at least the doctor does. Rosa merely tells her what to do, and before long, she can pick the steps out of her brain. As she remembers it, pancakes are not terribly complex. She makes Jane a heaping stack, one-half that size for herself, and singles for the girls.

The sound is what she remembers most. That hiss as you pour the batter and the way it quiets down into a sizzle more and more with each use of a spatula. She remembers Rosa used to let her try her hand at flipping them and that it almost always ended up with pancakes kissing the floor. But Rosa never scolded her. Not even once.

"I'm done," she says to Rosa as she begins to transfer the pancakes to plates. But it wouldn't be the work of an Isles if she didn't stage it a bit. Even if it is _just_ breakfast. She decorates each plate with bananas slices, strawberries, and even a few blueberries. She has just recently trusted herself enough to buy perishable foods. It was a leap of faith, but with Jane by her side, she knows she won't fall into another episode of eating from the trash or worse.

The change in diet has her feeling stronger than ever.

At some point during her fretful decorating, Rosa slips her mind for just a moment, and when she looks up wanting to show off her handiwork, the woman is gone.

"Rosa?"

[Gone.]

 _Oh... you're back._

[Yes.]

 _Please... we're just going to have breakfast_.

[Know.]

 _Please… don't hurt them._

The doctor feels _Her_ annoyance, like a child who has been told something he already knows. And as the feeling begins to fade, she notices the voice receding with it. Surrendering just like that.

She hears the floorboards creak far behind her in the back rooms, telling her Jane must be getting the girls up. The doctor can barely contain her excitement as she flies down the hall to meet them.

...

"You made all _this_?" Jane's eyes are wide.

"I... I did. Is it wrong? Are you tired of pancakes? It's just that I only know how to make pancakes, but I could always tr‒"

"Maur, stop," she says, amused and smiling. "It's perfect. Thank you."

Charly and Sophie sit beside each other, the former drenching her single pancake in maple syrup, the latter weakly resisting just falling back asleep right there on the table.

"Doctor! How didju know I love bluesies?" Charly asks, happily popping one into her mouth.

"Blueberries," Jane clarifies, but the doctor thinks she may be getting the hang of the way they speak. It's fascinating, really. A language within a language all its own.

Sophie, however, does not look as impressed as her sister. She pushes vibrant chunks of strawberry around her plate, looking about ready to fall asleep right in her chair. The doctor tries not to take it to heart, but it's difficult to watch the child neglect the food made specifically for her. But god, she tries her hardest to keep it out of her features.

It doesn't work.

Jane notices her downhearted expression just like she notices everything. And for once, the doctor is not glad she is so easily read.

"Eat, Soph. Doctor made it just for you."

"I don't wanna," she mumbles, monotone. Sophie doesn't whine. She drones. It's a thousand times worse.

"Soph." Stern.

"Jane, it's okay. She doesn't have t‒"

"Sophie. Just eat your breakfast," Jane says with a hint of finality. But even the doctor knows this is nowhere near over.

"I don't wanna."

"Why not?" Charly asks, eyeballing a blueberry on her sister's plate.

"Because."

"Hey," Jane says, getting the girl to look up at her. "Because why?"

The child huffs and points forcefully at the doctor, "Because _she_ made it."

"Oh." She feels like she's been shot straight through the heart. Stabbed at the hand of a four-year-old. All she wanted was to do something nice for them, but it was a mistake. A huge mistake. She must have overstepped a line, crossed some boundary.

How had she not seen it before? Something so completely apparent. "I'm sorry," she says, sliding her chair out and getting to her feet. "I should have asked."

"Maura, wait. Don't go." She turns fiery eyes back at her daughter, "Tell her you're sorry."

"No."

This was a mistake.

Charly's eyes widen at the scene unfolding before her. "Soph, that's not nice."

"Be quiet, Charly."

"Hey." Jane's voice comes out low and angry, "Don't talk to your sister like that, and tell Maura you're sorry. Right now."

"I'm sorry, Doctor," she child practically growls. Her insincerity is not lost on the doctor.

She drops her eyes to her feet, unsure if she is angrier with herself for making the assumption or for letting a little girl's comment hit her so hard. She just wanted to make them happy. "I forgive you."

Another chair slides out, and moments later she feels arms wrap around her from the side. It's not Jane, but instead little Charly, standing on top of a chair. Now this little girl. This little girl loves anything and everything, including one nervous, fearful doctor.

"Don't be sad, Doctor. Sometimes... Sometimes she bees mean, but you can't cry. She doesn't mean it. I don't think," Charly puts her hands on both sides of the doctor's face. "Be happy, Doctor."

How could she not be with this little girl's reassurances?

"Okay."

 _Okay._

...

Of course, Jane doesn't want to leave for work with Sophie's rude outburst hanging in the air. She apologizes dozens of times, hoping she can make up for her daughter's behavior. But honestly, the doctor no longer feels the sting. Over the years, she's developed a special way of handling pain only felt in the heart: Let it hurt, but only for a moment. Then forget it with all your might. Because everyone else has already moved on, and you should too.

"We can call Jenny." Their official babysitter‒ who is just as amazing as promised on paper‒ "I don't want Sophie to think she can talk to you like that."

"Jane, it's fine. Go to work. There's no need to call her."

"I can take the day off."

"You don't have to do that."

Jane shrugs, "It's been awhile since we spent the whole day together."

She wants this. Oh god, she wants this more than anything. A whole day with Jane. No work. No babysitters. An unwarranted smile breaks across her face just thinking about it.

"I take it you agree. How about I call in?"

"Jane, I couldn't ask you to do that. Really, it's okay. We can find time another day. I don't want you to miss work."

"Giovanni won't mind. He owes me a couple... dozen favors. Might as well collect." Jane takes a step forward, smiling that slight smile that seems to take away the doctor's sense of balance. "Besides, I want to. I feel like I haven't really seen you in forever."

 _Don't do that. Don't do things for me._

 _Be careful with anything you do for me. Even the smallest thing._

 _Because I might just_

 _fall in love with you._

...

Sophie is interested in books.

Jane takes them both to the library every week, so Charly can play in the kids' area and Sophie can check out another stack of colorful children's books. The doctor often looks forward to stories of Charly's adventures in the play area, but Sophie is never willing to share anything about any of her books. She supposes she knows why now that she knows the child simply hates her.

Jane calls in, telling her boss and childhood friend that she is taking a sick day. And when she hangs up, she clarifies that it is, in fact, a sick day. A sick-of-Sophie's-attitude day.

The four of them take up her living room‒ Charly with her train set from that very first visit, Sophie curled up in an armchair with a brightly-colored book in her lap, and Jane stretched out on the couch with her feet in the doctor's lap, staring lazily at the sitcom flickering across the flat screen.

It's perfect, save for the waves of hate she can feel radiating out of the not-so book-absorbed four-year-old. Not real waves, that would be ridiculous, but she can feel that things are not as at ease as she thought they were just last night.

Sophie moves her fingers over the words in the book, mouthing the sounds she knows from what she has learned from those semi-educational TV shows they seem to live off of. Combined with the pictures decorating the pages, the doctor believes the girl can understand much of what is going on in the story. At least enough to get the gist of it.

Charly makes more train noises, or what she thinks to be train noises. In her world, train tracks are prone to violent explosions. She whispers to herself as she plays, something most children do regardless of who is listening. Her game involves some kind of diamond thief, a princess, and a talking dog. Irrational and very, very entertaining.

"Mom?"

"What, Soph."

"What's this word?" she turns the book towards Jane and points to a word at the bottom of the page.

Jane pretends to look at the word, "I don't know. Ask Doctor."

"Never mind."

A few minutes later: "Mom? What's this word?"

"I don't know. Ask Doctor."

"Never mind."

"Mom?"

"Ask Doctor."

Sophie groans, "Fine!" She climbs out of the chair and sits heavily next to the doctor. She sets the book in her lap and points to the word that is giving her so much trouble.

"It's..." she bites her bottom lip, fearing the child will snap at her again if she even says it. "It's caterpillar."

"Calipitter?"

"No... cat-er-pill-er."

"Cal-i-pitt-er?"

"Tried. It's impossible." Jane says, grunt-like. "Calipitter‒ caterpillar. Skapetti‒ spaghetti. Cuitar‒ guitar. Buhllerfly‒ butterfly."

"Uh, thanks, Doctor," Sophie says quickly, already dashing back to the armchair.

"You're welcome."

It doesn't take long for the child to come crawling back to her to ask for another word. But then it's right back to the chair. Then again and again... and again. And then finally:

"Will you read this to me?"

The doctor looks to Jane, unsure of what she should say. Jane gives her a smile and a nod, and that's all the confirmation she needs. Sophie leans in, careful not to accidentally touch the doctor, but still staying close enough to see the pictures as she reads about the adventure of a caterpillar and her friends.

Before long, Sophie just gives up trying and lets her head fall against the doctor's arm. She stops reading then, wondering what on earth she is feeling inside her chest. It's like a twinge of pain, but it doesn't hurt. Whatever it is, she's sure she doesn't want it to stop.

She reads on, finding herself slightly enjoying the quirky‒ yet terribly silly‒ story of a set of unlikely friends. But when she finishes, she hands the book back to the girl and waits for her to put up her angry walls again.

"Wow! You know all the words," Sophie says instead.

"I do."

Sophie grabs a different book off the coffee table. "This one."

"Okay."

Jane moves her foot against the doctor's thigh to get her attention. When their eyes meet, Jane gives her another nod that feels a lot like progress.

Sophie settles against her arm again and shakes the book, telling the doctor to start reading already And for a moment the doctor believes everything is going to be okay. It might be. She's optimistic.

...

Later that evening a thunderstorm encroaches.

About an hour ago, they moved to the patio furniture outside to watch the girls in the backyard. The doctor had been thinking about just how boring her yard must be to them. She even made a mental note to ask Jane about picking out some outdoor toys for them the next time they run to the store.

But now sandboxes and inflatable pools are the absolute last thing on her mind.

As thunder explodes in the sky, she flinches uglier than ever before. She has never been outside during one. The Rizzolis had her so distracted in the moment, she didn't even notice the grey clouds invading the summer sky.

Charly stops dead in her tracks and throws her hands up in the air. "Didju hear that!"

"Yeah! It was like crrrrrraaaaaaaasshh!" Sophie says, motioning almost wildly with her hands. Almost.

 _Be brave._

But she can't. She can't stop her hands from flying to her ears. Or the whimper that escapes her lips as another thunderclap booms in the distance. They were having such a wonderful evening, and now it's ruined. Ruined because she can't face the things that frighten her.

 _It's okay. It's okay. I'm okay. I'm okay._

 _It's okay._

 _I'm oka_ ‒

Hands. Strong hands, pressed gently to the sides of her face. She opens her eyes, and Jane is there. Kneeled in front of her, hands steady, eyes concerned. "Maura."

 _Don't let go._

"It's okay. You're safe."

 _Safe_.

…

.

 **Twenty-Seven Years Ago**

...

 _At three years old, the child is full of life. A storm rages outside. Loud and powerful, but she doesn't notice. She is busy playing, spelling out her full name in alphabetical blocks on her bedroom floor, creating songs with the letters. The golden retriever puppy her father bought her for her birthday last week is curled up beside her, receiving strokes every time she remembers him over her blocks. She has named him Arthur after her father. Artie for short._

 _He nuzzles into her leg, tail wagging in contentment. She pats his head gingerly, "I love you, Artie. But I'm singing. Would you like to listen?"_

 _Arti barks in what she interprets as affirmation._

 _"M is for Maura. A is for... apple. U is for umbrella. R is for_ ‒ _"_

 _Her closet door creaks open, bringing her little song to an abrupt end. She thinks it's her nanny. The one that doesn't love her. The one who makes her go to the bathroom when she doesn't have to, and yells when she forgets to pick up a doll or book._

 _"Amelie?"_

 _But it's not Amelie. Not her mother. Not her father._

 _"Hello?"_

 _Thunder shakes the world outside, and the door inches open a fraction more. Ever curious. Ever foolish. Artie springs up, barking and snarling towards the closet. She climbs to her feet and crosses the room to her closet. She throws the door open and peers inside._

 _It's empty. Dresses, shoes, and nothing._

 _Another rumble. Behind her, Artie whines. A sound more shrill than anything she's ever heard in her short years._

 _She turns away from the closet, eager to get back to her song. She turns, but that's as far as she gets. The R block drops from her hand. A scream rips from her throat._

 _Flaming red hair, white-less black eyes, and skin like porcelain wrapped in a pink dress stand over the body of her once breathing puppy dog. Crimson leaks from Artie's neck, and in the girl's hand is a knife from the kitchen._

 _She collapses on the ground and gropes the air in the direction of her dog. Her birthday present. Her only friend._

 _"Artie!" but the little dog isn't responding. "He died?"_

 _The red-haired girl merely shrugs, "Yes," she says with too many voices._

 _"Wh-why?"_

 _"Loud."_

 _"But... you can't do that!" She remembers her parents' message from earlier that morning. They are coming home for dinner. They can't see this! A dead puppy and... and a stranger._

 _"Who are you?"_

 _The girl reaches for the bag used for storing the blocks and stuffs in Artie as well as the knife inside. She shoves the bag at the distraught child._

 _"Hide."_

 _"But..."_

 _Something flashes in those light-devouring eyes, and faster than possible in any form, the girl crosses the room and wraps her hands around the child's neck._

 _"Hide!" she orders, slowly choking the life out of her. Pitch black eyes on fire, red hair, darkening vision._

 _The world fades out like somebody turned out the lights._

 _"O-okay." The terrified child barely manages to spit the words out._

 _The red-haired girl releases her and takes a step back, smirking, "Yes."_

 _..._

 _The child mourns for her puppy as she tosses him and the knife off the edge of the bridge into the river just outside her house. She only had him for a week._

 _"Don't you have a name?" she asks the other girl. The killer._

 _No answer._

 _"Why are you at my house? Where's your mom?"_

 _Nothing._

 _Tired of getting nowhere, she reaches out and grasps the girl's hand. The instant their skin touches, she falls to her knees, hands pressed tightly to her temples, her skull on fire. Thunder rips the sky into pieces above them, and for the first time, the child is afraid._

 _"STOP!" she screams, but the girl just smirks at her._

 _"No."_

 _"Please!" The pressure inside her head becomes too great. She falls onto her back near the point of unconsciousness._

 _"I. You." The girl moves closer, aligning her body with the breathless child's. Curly red hair falls over her face, blocking out the sun. She drops all her weight onto the fallen child._

 _[I am you.]_

 _..._

 _She wakes shaking. Body moving back and forth, but not from her own doing. She opens her eyes, shocked to see her mother and father looking down at her. Worried. Frantic. Pale._

 _"Maura, darling? Are you alright?" Her mother's voice is panicked._

 _She takes in her surroundings. It's dark, but she knows exactly where she is. Her closet, beneath a pile of coats. She sits up and pushes herself into her father's arms._

 _"Daddy, she scared me."_

 _"Who? Amelie?"_

 _"No. No. No. The girl."_

 _"What girl?"_

 _"The girl in m_ ‒ _"_

 _[No.]_

 _Her heart picks up, double time. She shakes her head violently, trying to rid her brain of the girl's harsh whisper._

 _"Maura, darling. Stop that. You're going to hurt yourself." She feels a hand placed gently on her back._

 _"There was a g_ ‒ _"_

 _[No.]_

 _She points to her head, tears streaking her cheeks, "She's in here, Daddy."_

 _"In... in your head?"_

 _"Yes! Yes! She kill_ ‒ _"_

 _[No tell.]_

 _She opens her mouth to tell on the girl for taking her puppy away. But the words don't come. It's as if she never learned them in the first place. Frustration grips her tightly, pushing more tears from her eyes._

 _"What is it, Maura?" her father asks, rubbing her upper back lightly as if he is afraid to touch her, let alone give her the hug she so desperately needs._

 _[No tell.]_

 _The sky tears itself apart outside, and now she feels it. The dull ache in her head as if it's too full. The world starts to spin, a vacuum sucking all the air out of the terrified child. A metallic taste fills her mouth as she crumbles into her father's chest._

 _[No tell.]_

 _The child fades._

…

.

 **Present Time**

...

Jane's arms tighten around her midsection, pulling her from the fuzzy memory. They are on the floor, the doctor's back flush against Jane's chest, legs running each other's length. Jane's back is against the sliding glass door as if that is as far as she could get them before the doctor could no longer move.

"Maura, breathe." A command.

"Jane." A whisper.

Jane tenses like she wasn't expecting a response, but she recovers just as quickly, her arms pulling the doctor closer.

"Yeah?" Soft. Gentle.

She wraps her own fingers around Jane's forearms, "More."

Somehow, Jane understands just what she wants. She slides her arms up just below the doctor's breasts and squeezes her tighter. So tight, breathing becomes laborious, but the doctor would rather suffocate right there than have Jane let go.

Peering at them over the back of the couch, Charly‒ or maybe Sophie, she is too confused to tell‒ is the picture of fear. Her eyes are wide and glistening with what might already be tears. "Doctor? Are you o'right?"

 _Charly_.

She can tell by the way she looks about ready to vault over the couch should Jane give her the green light. Sophie shows less of her thoughts within her facial features.

"I… I'm okay."

It's half-true, at least until the sky makes its anguish known. The fiery redhead contained within the roar, inside her head, in the sky. Everywhere.

 _Focus_.

Jane's heart beats against her shoulder blade. Rhythmic. Regular. Calm. Despite the storm on all fronts, she is composed. Why on earth wouldn't she be? The doctor slows her own breathing, memorizing the steady beat of Jane's heart.

"Alright?" Jane whispers softly in her ear. "I had no idea the thunder was so..."

It's not the thunder. It never has been.

It's _Her_.

It's because there's more to the story than a murderer and a powerless little girl.

 _I don't even know if you and your girls are really real. I've imagined people just as touchable, just as seemingly real before. And every time it's destroyed me._

"Shh," Jane tries. "I've got you. You're safe with me."

...

What she remembers of her father is limited.

He was a paranoid man, at least when it came to protecting the estate. Even though he and her mother hand-picked their staff, he didn't trust a single one of them. He had security cameras mounted in the kitchen, the halls, the drive, and even one in his daughter's room pointed exclusively at the door.

Years after the death of her puppy, she sneaked into her father's study with a mission: to find out where that girl came from, and how on earth she got inside their home. She found the tapes, alright, and watched them several times focusing her attention one room at a time. And then finally, she spotted movement in the kitchen during the middle of the day after lunch had been served. Yes, a child entered the kitchen. Yes, a child pulled a knife from the rack. And yes, a child left the kitchen and walked the halls with that knife.

She followed the girl's movements through the house as she walked rather slowly through the halls. She ended up in the doctor's childhood room. Artie jumping up on her legs in greeting. Knife poised in the air, the child looked directly into the camera.

At that point, she had lost all hopes of breathing, for that little girl didn't have fiery red curls or a dirty pink dress. There was no proof a girl like that ever existed in their home.

The child who killed the dog was, in fact, Maura Isles.


	11. Supernova

An hour after the storm has passed, they are still just as they were in the worst of it. Jane won't let go, but her grip has loosened. Charly sits cross-legged at the doctor's feet, counting toes over and over again.

"One two three four six seven... No. One... Two... Three... Four... Oh, _five_." She keeps going, but her little voice fades as the doctor focuses on her own breathing.

"Alright?" Jane whispers. She nods, but offers no verbal answer. It's late. "God, you're burning up. You sure you're alright?"

"I... I don't know."

"Are ya sick, Doctor?" Charly asks, head tilted in inquisition. She doesn't wait for an answer before springing to her feet and accidentally smacking the doctor across the forehead as she tries to feel for a fever. The child hardly notices the doctor squirming under her hand.

"What're you doing there, kid?" Jane asks, the request stilling the girl for only a moment.

"You feel like a fire, Doctor."

"I feel fine."

The girl's eyes widen, "That's what everybody says! And then guess what happen, Doctor?"

 _I don't guess._ "What?"

Charly moves her hands to the doctor's cheeks and looks her straight in the eyes, "Then they died. They said 'I'm fine,' and then they died."

"Who's they?"

 _Who died?_

 _What?_

She feels Jane's body shaking behind her with laughter, "I think you watch too much TV, kid. Stop it, you're scaring Doctor."

Charly frowns, "I'm not lying. It's true, right, Soph?"

"She's lying!" Sophie yells from her chair. She's been looking at her books this whole time to no one's surprise. It's just the kind of kid she is.

"I'm not lying. I'm not! It's true. _Really_ true." Charly looks back and forth between her mother and the doctor, her frown deepening as no one seems to believe her stories. She drops herself in the doctor's lap, not realizing how bony her little knees are and how much they do not belong jammed in the doctor's stomach.

"Okay... you won't die, Doctor."

"I appreciate that," she says, adjusting the child so that she can breathe.

Sophie glances over at them but looks away when she catches the doctor's eyes. And here she thought she was making progress with the little girl. They spent nearly an hour reading together on the couch earlier, and everything was going so well. But she believes the child still hates her and that there might not be much she can do about it.

She returns her attention to the child leaning heavily against her chest. They should be asleep right now, and they would be, had she not turned inward on herself. Jane couldn't handle everything on her own.

Jane shouldn't have to take care of her. She has her own life.

Sophie's eyes wander over again, but this time, it is Jane who decides to do something. "C'mon, Soph. Don't be all alone over there."

"No, I wanna read."

"You can read over here."

"But..."

"C'mon, Soph. You know you wanna."

"Yeah!" Charly chimes in, "You wanna. I know ya do!"

It takes a little more coaxing, but eventually the girl slides out of her chair and carries her stack of books over to the screen door with the rest of them. She nestles against Jane's side, trying her very best not to touch the doctor.

Charly pokes her sister's arm, earning an irritated glare. "You're one."

"What?"

"You're one," Charly moves her hand to her mother's shoulder, "Mom's two, and I'm three... and," she reaches up and rests her little hand on the doctor's neck, "Doctor is four."

 _Doctor is four._

 _I am four._

Rationally, she knows Charly is just counting. She doesn't mean anything more by it. Children her age like to count and identify more secondary colors and complex shapes and sing the alphabet song without end. She didn't mean for to make it sound like the doctor might just belong with them. She's four years old.

She was just counting.

Jane draws them all in closer. Despite herself, Sophie lets her cheek rest against the doctor's arm. She wonders what they must look like‒ a heap of people on the floor, all leaning into each other against a glass door. For a moment the doctor lets herself think the unthinkable.

Maybe they look like a family.

But the moment burns out just as quickly as it came into her head. She shouldn't let herself think like that. It's foolish‒ childish, even. She shouldn't do that to herself.

They are not hers to keep.

...

The ice pick killings cease.

Her chance to test and DNA against her own slips between her fingertips. She cannot prove what she found before wasn't some kind of mechanical mishap. This agitates the doctor beyond reason, and on top of that, she can feel her mental tracks fading. She takes down notes at every possible second, not willing to risk forgetting even the tiniest bit of information on a case.

In addition to her case notes, she writes down somewhat of a checklist of errands to run after work. There is no way she would remember if she didn't make a note. She is coping. Barely. And knowing that it's only a matter of time before this becomes a serious problem makes her feel sick to her stomach.

"Why did you have to happen to me?"

[I. You.]

"You make this so difficult."

[No.]

"Yes, you do. I can't even think. I forget everything... I am thirty years old, I should be able to remember my patient's name."

[No I.]

"I know, I know. You want to blame this on Jane."

[Yes.]

"I just don't understand why it has to be this way. Why do you have to take my mind away?"

[No Jane.]

"Why not?"

Nothing.

 _Why can't you just stay when she's around, but keep quiet? Why don't you give me my brain back?_

[No.]

It's impossible to rationalize with _Her_. It always has been, and that's not going to change. The world will grow around them, but it's always going to be the same for her. A voice. Blackouts. Death. And now that she has found someone‒ three someones‒ that make her feel alive enough to forget, things start to fall apart at the seams.

"I didn't ask for you." She is bitter, but she has every right to be.

[Know.]

"Then why are you here?"

[I you. I am you.]

"I'm not a murderer."

[Yes are.]

She taps her pen against her desk, anxious. Right now Dr. Papov is explaining his findings to detectives Crowe and Frost. She has avoided the body ever since it arrived, not wanting to mix details and confuse herself further. This is what she has become.

"I haven't killed anyone," she whispers into the open air of her office.

There's no response, but she can feel that tug in the back of her mind.

"Sometimes I try to imagine a life without you... and I can't. In any version of life, you're there to protect me in whatever way you see fit. I... I just wish you wouldn't kill."

[Have to.]

Short. Simple.

"No, you don't. You _don't_."

[Yes.]

Pressure. Not much, but enough to serve as a warning. What _She_ really means is: _Drop it_. So she does. For now at least.

The door to her office swings open and Crowe's voice fills the air. "Hey, Queenie."

"Hello, Detective Crowe."

"Darren," he corrects.

She gives a polite nod, but she will never call him _Darren_. Not today. Not next week. Not ever.

He checks his watch, "You're off in about a half hour, right?"

A nod. In no way does she like where this is going. "Yes, I am. Why?"

"A bunch of us're getting drinks at the Robber, and I was wondering if you wanted to come along. I feel like we don't talk enough." He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

 _And with reason, Detective._

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline... I have dinner plans." It's the truth. Every night Jane shows off her culinary talents with microwavable chicken nuggets and spaghetti. It's wonderful, though decidedly, rather unhealthy.

"You... have dinner plans?"

The doctor laces her fingers together and does her best to maintain the on-and-off eye-contact Crowe is so fond of. "That's what I said, yes."

"Maybe some other time then?"

"Maybe." It's a half-lie. She will never get drinks with him. It's a half lie because one half of maybe is already no.

"So how's it been goin' lately?"

 _Please leave._

[Away?]

 _No. You stay right where you are. I just want him to walk out. **Alive**. _

"I've be‒" Her phone chimes repeatedly in her purse, her knight in pink bedazzled armor‒ courtesy of a certain pair of twins. She flashes Crowe a smile he reads as apologetic, but really, it's pure relief. It is difficult enough to speak to Crowe about cases and cause of death, but when he wants to ask her personal question? No.

She fishes the phone out of her purse and glances at the screen for a half second before her heart kicks into overdrive. It's Jenny, the babysitter.

" _If there's an emergency or something urgent and you can't get ahold of me, call Maura."_

She accepts the call, hands shaking.

"Jenny, is everything okay?" There's crackling and muffled noises on the other end of the line for a few seconds. But those short moments are like hell to the doctor. She clutches the phone in a death grip, and her other hand anchors in her hair, "Jenny?"

"Hi, Doctor!"

She sighs in relief, loosening her hold on the phone, "Hello, Charly."

"How'dju know it's me?"

"Lucky guess." Not exactly a guess. Who else could it be? Sophie won't go anywhere near her without being forced, let alone call her. "Did you need something?"

"Nope!"

"Okay...?" She doesn't know what to do or what to say. This little family is giving her a million and one firsts.

"I miss you, Doctor. Are you havin' fun at work?"

She looks up at Crowe‒ who's still standing in her office, rather awkwardly, she might add. "I wouldn't say fun."

"Why not? Don'tchu have lossa friends?"

"No."

"That's o'right. I can bees your friend."

"Oh, thank you, Charly."

"Welcome."

"Are... Are you having a good day?"

Charly makes a noise like she's thinking, "I dunno. Jenny won't let me play her phone. Hey! When you get home can I play _your_ phone?"

The doctor laughs a little, and it feels good. Foreign, but good. "Of course."

She won't mention to Jane the fact that she'd secretly let Charly download more than just the free games. More than anything, she just wants to be able to give her something. To use some of her money for something that makes the little girl happy, even if only for a few hours.

"Uh-oh. Jenny wants'er phone back! Love you, Doctor, bye bye."

She freezes as Charly hangs up.

 _Love you, Doctor._

Surely it was just a habit left over from so many phone conversations with her mother, but the doctor thinks that she might just love her too.

Crowe clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable being in a situation in which he is irrelevant. He shifts on his feet, fidgeting until she finally gives him her gaze. "Sorry, Detective."

"So, uh... Who was that on the phone?"

"You remember I told you I had some people staying with me?"

"Oh, yeah. Right. Just checking up?" He's unbelievably awkward, and it puts the doctor off a bit. Crowe is usually this smooth, take-charge kind of man, and here he is mucking up a social interaction almost as badly as she does at times.

"Yes... Is there something I can help you with, Detective?"

He goes to run a hand through his hair, but stops himself, and laughs it off. "This isn't going well, is it?"

 _What...?_

[Away?]

 _No. It's fine. I think I can do this alone._

[No. No can.]

 _Yes, I can. Just stay where you are._

"Excuse me?"

"I've been trying to ask you to dinner or drinks for weeks, and it's not working." He sounds a little exasperated like he's getting something monumental off his chest. She can only stare at him.

If she wasn't so uncomfortable in his presence in the first place, her jaw might have dropped. Crowe? Detective Darren Crowe? The man who has done nothing but watch her leave rooms since he transferred to Boston from Chicago?

 _No. No no no no no no. A thousand times_ _ **no**_ _. No._

[Yes.]

 _No._

[Yes.]

 _I thought you wanted to kill him. Not five minutes ago, you were ready to get rid of him._

[Yes.]

 _Why? Because he'll keep me away from Jane?_

[Yes.]

 _No! No no nononono. Not Crowe._

[Yes. Go. Yes.]

"I suppose..." she grits her teeth a little at the words to come. "I suppose I could go to this Robber place with you... But only for a little while."

That seems to magically transform Crowe back into his usual cocky self‒ self-satisfied grin and all. "Queenie, I gotta tell ya, you're a tough one ta crack." He heads for the door, "I'll pick you up out front in thirty."

She feels a pit form in her stomach as she opens Jane's text messaging thread. The four of them always eat together, and now she is going to miss it because what? Because she can't stand up for herself against _Her_. She types out a message telling Jane she's going to miss dinner, but she hesitates before pressing the Send icon.

She wants them. Not Crowe.

She tries to convince herself they won't mind. That they will barely notice her absence. She fails.

The doctor sends the message and drops her head into her hands. "I'm sorry."

...

As it turns out, the Robber is not the name in its entirety.

The Dirty Robber.

Don't judge a book by its cover, but... never in a million years would she knowingly dine or even order a drink from an establishment with the word _dirty_ in the name. She suspects Crowe omitted the whole name to her for just that reason.

She doesn't want to seem uppish or stuck-up, but the way she plants her feet just outside the door makes her just that. Crowe rolls his eyes and puts a hand on her lower back to guide her in. She jumps at the contact and moves out of his reach, frightened for no reason.

He holds his hands in the air non-aggressively, "Alright... and I know it looks a little shady, Queenie, but I promise it's fit for a queen." He winks at her, but all it does is give her a bad taste in her mouth.

She rationalizes to keep herself from panicking. If she can just get through this one time, maybe he will never ask again.

"After you, Queenie."

...

Wednesday evening in the Dirty Robber houses a sparse population, and much to the doctor's surprise, it's not as dirty as she originally thought. Granted, nowhere near immaculate, but reasonable for a cop hangout. The dim lighting and muted colors give off a mellow vibe, but none of this puts her at ease. The more time she spends here, the less time she has with the three people she really wants to have the evening with.

Crowe nods at the bartender and motions for her to sit in an empty booth.

"So? What do ya think? Not so bad, right?"

She doesn't get the chance to even string together an answer before both their cell phones chirp to life. Saved my murder. Crowe, however, seems less than relieved.

"Goddammit!" He yanks his phone out of his belt and snaps at the caller, "Crowe."

The doctor answers her own phone as Crowe leads her by the elbow back out to his car looking more than just a little disgruntled.

"Rain check?"

The doctor, of course, has no idea what that means, but perhaps it has something to do with the light rain falling they as they exit the bar.

Perhaps.

...

The call takes them to a shipping yard. Cargo crates galore, it's the perfect place to store a body. When they get out of the car the doctor scolds herself for not taking the sixty percent chance of rain in the weather report more seriously. In just thirty minutes, it had gone from a drizzle to a downpour. But her new Jimmy Choos are the last thing on her mind as she begins to panic about the quality of evidence preservation. Try as they might, a couple CSRU guys and some homicide detectives are no match for the elements.

Frost, Korsak, and Sleeper greet them at the scene, grim and professional. Surprisingly, it's Sleeper who starts to fill them in.

"Found him during the brief search before loading. Gregory Logan, a high school teacher according to the I.D. in his back pocket‒"

"Rookie mistake? Seems kinda sloppy," Crowe suggests, shouting over the rain, but Sleeper shakes his head.

"Nah, the thing is, that's not Gregory Logan."

"What do ya mean?"

"I _mean_ , when we called to inform his wife, Mr. Logan answered the phone. Said his wallet was picked last week."

Crowe rolls his eyes, "So robbery-gone-wrong? This guy takes one too many guys' wallets?"

Sleeper shakes his head, "Nah, it's not like that. You're gonna wanna see this."

He and Kosak lead the way, weaving along the marked path through the cargo containers. She doesn't even want to begin to think about what her shoes are going through. Or her dress. But there will be time for mindless fretting later.

She follows them into a crate already lit up with portable floodlights. She welcomes the dryness of the shipping container for only a moment before remembering the job at hand.

"Over here, Queenie." Crowe motions her to the back left corner of the crate where the detectives have already crowded.

"You think our guy's just been keepin' him here, so he could string him out someplace public later?" Korsak proposes the question out in the open, but no one answers.

 _Our guy..._

 _No. Not again._

She steadies herself against the side of the container, trying to will herself back into composure. The ice pick killer. The person possibly in charge of Pike's death... The person that might just share her DNA. She should have reported the results the second she got them. And most importantly, she shouldn't be working this case.

"Queenie? You look a little sick."

"I'm fine."

 _I am fine._

 _The test could have been false. I am fine._

 _I share no blood with this monster._

…

The murder mirrors both Pike's and the other victim's. Ice pick through the heart. Chest cavity filled with the blood with nowhere else to go. Exsanguination. The only difference is that this man was wrapped in a grey tarp fastened with bungee cords for what she can only imagine to be future transport.

Every other detail down to the shape of the handle on the ice pick is identical, the only question is why. She feels connected to Pike's death, but not the last one or this one in the slightest.

There is a giant barrier in her mind blocking her from the truth, but there's no way through it. Not when _She_ is so intent on protecting it.

 _I need to know what happened._

[No.]

 _Why?_

[No.]

 _Then this monster's just going to keep on killing innocent people!_

[Innocent?]

 _You're saying they're not?_

Nothing.

 _I just need the truth._

[No monster.]

 _No?_

[No.]

The doctor gives up, knowing it's impossible to get anywhere with _Her_ when _She_ doesn't want to talk. She has the highest of advantages, a second consciousness that sees a hell of a lot more than she does, but she can't use it. She can't use _Her_ for good. That's not how it works.

The voice is evil. Despite _Her_ soft moments. _She_ is evil.

She has her team bag the body and surrounding evidence to take back to the lab. A proper autopsy and examination would take place in the morning, but now she just wants to get home and out of her wet clothes.

"Hey, doc. Wait up."

She turns to find Detective Frost jogging to catch up with her. "Yes, detective?"

"I saw you came with Crowe," he looks over his shoulder, "and... I know how he is. Would you be more comfortable if I drove you home?"

She could hug him. If she weren't terrified of the outcome, she would have practically tackled him right there. All this time, she has been dreading the ride home with Crowe, and now Frost is offering her an outlet.

She cannot thank him enough. "Yes, yes. Thank you!"

He chuckles a little, "Sure, doc."

...

Frost makes it easy. He doesn't ask questions or sulk about the case. Instead, he fills the car with stories of the kitten he got for his girlfriend's birthday and the BPD softball team's big game against the fire department this weekend.

"I swear we can beat them, doc. They've got us every year, but I know _this_ is the year."

The doctor doesn't care for sports, but his enthusiasm is admirable. "Perhaps you will pull through this time around."

 _Though, statistically speaking... the odds are not in your favor, Detective._

"We've got Crowe this year. He's a terrible team player, but that guy can knock it outta the park. It's unbelievable!"

"I'm glad. I'll... I'll root for you."

He smiles at her‒ something he's great at. Genuine smiles. "You could always come watch, doc. We could always use someone in the stands."

Her mind immediately snaps to Jane and her love of sports. "I'll think about it."

He pulls up in front of her house just as the GPS announces that they have reached their destination. Frost reaches forward and turns the small device off, "See? And the girlfriend said I would never figure out how to work it. Me. The tech guy."

She has to laugh, just a little.

He glances out the window, "Whoa. Nice place, doc."

"Thank you." She shoulders her purse and tries to show some of her gratitude in a smile. "And thank you for the ride."

"Anytime. Couldn't just let you fall into Crowe's clutches. See ya tomorrow, doc."

He waits until she's safely inside before driving away. Though a small gesture, he has no idea how much she appreciates it. He is a good man. Someone a tiny part of herself dares to consider a friend. Still, it's comforting to know she has someone looking out for her.

She looks down at her rain-soaked dress and sighs. A dry-cleaner is more than imperative at this point. Or she could just throw it out. It's not like her closet would miss it. She starts the unnecessarily arduous task of removing her shoes when she hears Jane on the phone in the kitchen.

"Look, I can't talk about this right now... No, I can't. You're not listening to me... I know... I know... Hey! I've held up my end so far, okay? I have to go."

She counts out ten seconds before making her way across the living room, hoping Jane doesn't spot her and think she was eavesdropping. She wasn't. Not on purpose, at least. In her defense, it was borderline unavoidable.

"Maur? You home?"

 _Home_.

It sounds almost permanent when she says it like that.

"Yes."

"How was work?"

 _Tiresome. Nerve-frying. Agitating._ "Like it always is."

Jane moves into the doorway in all her blue tank top glory. Did it have to be blue? Of all the colors in the visible spectrum, why did she have to choose the one color that shifts the doctor's insides? It might be the way it contrasts her olive-toned skin. Or maybe it's the fact that she chose to combine it with a pair of sweatpants. Whatever it is, the doctor is certain Jane's noticed her eyes.

"Hey, you."

"Hi."

"Forget an umbrella?"

"Unfortunately so."

"Seems a little unlike you."

Her dress is uncomfortably cold against her body, and the frigid air-conditioning isn't doing much to help that.

"Did you get dinner?"

"I imagine I would have if we didn't get called to a crime scene."

"We?" Just a question.

"Yes. Detective Crowe and I went to the strangest bar, but were called away before we could sit down."

For a moment, a frown crosses Jane's face. "Oh."

 _What did I do?_

 _Oh, no. Did I say something wrong?_

"I'm sorry," she blurts.

"For what?"

The doctor shrugs, or at least she tries to. It just ends up looking like a shiver. "You seem upset, and I thought I'd done something wrong."

"No, you didn't do anything," she smiles in the way only Jane can. The smile the doctor clicks her pen to at work. The smile she probably couldn't go a day without. "You go change, and I'll make you some eggs."

...

If Frost makes things easy, then Jane makes things effortless.

"I did something bad today," Jane says over her shoulder as she pours the whisked mixture into the pan on the stove.

"And what was that?" the doctor asks, taking this time so not-so-subtly take in the musculature of the brunette's back.

"Alright, but you have to promise you won't judge me 'cause it's kinda terrible... Ooh, and you're a doctor. You're probably going to hate this."

A little uneasy, "What did you do?"

"Nope. You gotta promise."

"I... promise." She shifts in her seat at the island, slightly worried.

"Okay... So for the life of me, I could _not_ get Charly to go to sleep. I tried everything, hell I even called my mother, but nothing worked. Not warm milk. Not that weird tea stuff you have in your fridge. Nothing. I'd put her down and five minutes later she'd be out here tugging on my shirt. I had to do it, Maur. I had to."

 _I do not like where this is going._

"So I... kinda sorta gave her a teeny bit of children's NyQuil."

"Was she ill?"

Jane looks over her shoulder again, sheepish, "Well... she sneezed like three hours ago. Does that count."

"Jane!"

"I know, I know. And I'll never do it again. I just didn't know what to do. I'm... I'm not so good at this. Sometimes I have no idea what I'm doing."

"How much did you give her?"

"I panicked and only gave her half the infant-dose."

The doctor shakes her head‒ part amused, and part horrified at the blatant misuse of a children's medicine. "You do realize that a dose that small will have little to no effect on her... How long ago did you give it to her?"

"Like ten min‒"

"Mom," a little voice interrupts from the doorway behind them. "I can't sleep."

"Come _on,_ " Jane says to the ceiling.

In the time they have lived together, the doctor has gathered a few things about this little family. Jane is stubborn, and Charly is, without a doubt, her mother's daughter when it comes to bedtime and putting toys away.

"May I try?" she asks, wanting to give Jane a little break.

"Have at it."

The doctor gathers the girl in her arms and lifts her easily. She's getting used to this sort of thing. Six months ago, she could almost laugh at the absurdity of her carrying a child to tuck into bed. And now? She can't imagine a life without something so simply perfect.

"Hi, Doctor," the child murmurs into her ear. "You were at work for a lon' year."

"I was gone for a long time, wasn't I?" she rubs circles on Charly's back, doing her best to mimic what made her feel better as a child.

"Uh-huh. I didn't get to play your phone."

"I know. I'm sorry. You can play in the morning if you still want to. I'm sure they'll come up with a great new game by then, and you can be the first in the whole house to play it."

"Really?" her voice droops.

"Really. But right now, you need to go to sleep for a little while."

"But... Doctor."

"Shh, _lucero_." The name slips out by accident, but the second it's introduced into the air of the kitchen, it locks in place. She'll never have another name for this child.

 _You bright star. You supernova._

She starts to walk slowly out of the kitchen, sneaking one last glance over her shoulder not at all expecting to catch Jane smiling at them. Could it be? Has she done something just right?

...

It doesn't take long to get Charly settled. Two minutes at most, but something tells her that Charly is not waking up for a while. Once again, she takes in the simplicity of their room. Sure, it's cluttered with their toys, but everything is still painted as white as it was when they moved in. Maybe she could convince Jane to add a coat of paint, purple perhaps. Or maybe she could order them a cartoon-themed bed set.

They would love that. Even Sophie, she's sure.

But for right now, she settles with forehead kisses and strange promises of sweet dreams. Children are comforted by the strangest of things. But she will promise them impossibilities like the moon and stars if it will just get Sophie to look at her like she's not a stranger with ill-intentions.

And if that day ever comes, she won't need anything else.

...

"Lemme guess: You did it on the first try?" Jane teases, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs in front of the doctor when she returns to her seat.

"Maybe."

Jane shakes her head, "You're amazing. Did you know that?"

 _What? I'm not! I'm terrible._

"I-I'm not."

"You know that for the past few weeks, Charly will only go to bed if you tuck her in?"

"Children can find comfort in routine. I hardly believe it has anything to do with me." She traces her finger along the edge of the island.

Jane leans over the counter, resting on her elbows, "Oh yeah? She told me she called you at work today."

"She did."

"Uh-huh. And I know you let her buy the games that cost money on your phone."

She shifts, suddenly very uncomfortable with this conversation. Somehow Jane manages to know everything. Well, everything concerning her family. If she knew the whole truth, she would take her little family and run like hell.

"I... um..."

"She loves you, Maur. It's okay."

 _Love_.

But of course, her mind snaps to the dark part of the cloud. "But Sophie hates me."

Jane finds the doctor's hand with her own and gives her a slight squeeze, "She doesn't hate you. She's just a little surly sometimes because she feels like she doesn't know you."

"I don't want her to feel like that."

"Then just try to talk to her. Read to her like you did the other day. She really liked that. She'll never admit it, but it's true. Sometimes I swear it's because she feels like she always has to be so different from her sister. Like she's trying so hard to be her own little person."

"I suppose there's merit in that."

Jane roots around in the silverware drawer and comes up with a fork, "Now, here. Eat. I used my super secret recipe."

"Care to disclose?" She takes a bite, feeling Jane's eyes watch for her reaction. In all honesty, the doctor isn't a fan of breakfast foods, but she likes the way Jane's eyes light up when she tries her cooking.

"I don't know if you could handle knowing. It could drive a person crazy."

"I want to know."

"Well, it's not so much of a secret recipe as it is a secret ingredient."

She leans forward a little, meeting those dark eyes, "And what might that be?"

"Love."


	12. Monster

_Another to us, a sealed three._

.

Jane brings home a flyer.

It's bright green and the font is rather obnoxious. So much so, it takes the doctor nearly ten seconds to register exactly what she's looking at.

"Sunshine Preschool?"

"Yeah. I went there as a kid. I saw the flyer at work, and I thought I'd grab one."

She reads over the flyer again, trying to hide her distaste for the graphic design. "And you want Sophie and Charly to go there?"

"I'm thinking about it. I mean, it's close to an apartment I've been looking at."

The doctor freezes. The flyer slips from her fingers and slices back and forth through the air until it reaches the ground. "You're looking at apartments?"

"Well... yeah. I can't really leech off of you forever."

 _But you're not._

 _You're not._

 _You can't leave, please._

"I... I don't want you to leave."

Jane scoops the flyer off the ground and sets it back on the island. "You didn't ask for any of this, Maura. We just kinda walked into your life... and it's not fair to you."

 _No, it wouldn't be fair if you just up and left me all alone in this house._

"Don't you want your space back?"

"No."

She laughs a little, "Alright, we'll talk about this later. I promised the girls I'd take them to the mall for some new school clothes."

As if on cue, Charly sprints down the hall in a pair of yellow overalls over a green t-shirt. Her feet clunk against the ground in heavy red snow boots. Behind the doctor, Jane stifles a laugh. "What're you wearing there, kid?"

"This is my fighter clothes." Charly bares her little teeth and draws her fists close into her body. To demonstrate her abilities, she sprints around the island with a fist in the air, "See?"

"Wow. You're a great fighter, but I don't think you're gonna need all that."

"But I _want_ it!"

"Charly," the doctor tries. "Don't you think you're going to get hot in all of that?"

"No," the child shakes her head with vehemence, "I won't. I won't."

"You're gonna pass out, kid. Just go run around in the backyard and try to come back and tell me you're not hot." Jane points towards the backyard, but Charly doesn't move. She just stares up at her mother, eyes determined to get her way.

"It's not even hot outside."

Jane laughs a little, "Alright, kid. But if I hear on word once we get there‒"

"You won't!" She jumps in the hair as high as those heavy boots will let her and grabs onto the doctor's skirt. "C'mon! C'mon, les'go! Is Doctor coming with us, Mom?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask her?"

"Doctor, are ya gonna come with us?" Wide brown eyes look up at her expectantly. The uniquely-dressed child has a tighter hold on her heart than she originally thought. _No_ seems to have omitted itself from her vocabulary.

"If you would like me to." She looks back up at Jane, "If that's alright with you."

"Sure, Maur."

A loud _thud_ in the living room has the three of them rushing to the source. Sophie stands about ten feet away from the doorway to the kitchen, her visual animal dictionary at her feet. She is red in the face, her little body quaking. Right then, the doctor knows she's holding her breath.

Jane kneels beside her and asks her what's wrong over and over again, but the girl doesn't reply. The answer is obvious, and maybe Jane knows it too. But she will never admit it.

"Why does she have to go everywhere with us?! Why can't she just _stay here?!_ "

It's amazing just how deep the words of a child can cut. Kids say what they feel in entirety. There is no filter, no consideration of feelings. They don't waste time. Then don't hold back.

" _Sophie!_ " Jane is horrified at her daughter's words, but the doctor was expecting them. Though knowing does nothing to dull their sting.

"Jane, it's okay. You take them... I'll stay. I need to finish up some notes and..." she trails off knowing she hasn't convinced Jane in the least bit. Before Jane can open her mouth to protest, Charly takes over.

"Why're so mean to Doctor?!" Charly yells at her sister. She stomps her boot, glaring at her twin. Sophie doesn't have an answer she is willing to share. "You're mean, Soph, an' I don't like you right now! Doctor is nice."

"You don't know anything! You don't _see_."

"Yes, I do!"

"No, you don't. Be quiet, Charly. You don't know _anything_... and... and you look stupid!"

That last little part is just enough to break Charly, and something in the way the little girl tries her absolute hardest not to let her sister's words reduce her to tears rips apart the doctor's insides. At just four years old, Sophie has mastered the art of killing with words. A terrible skill. One the doctor wishes with all her heart she will unlearn.

Within seconds, Charly cannot hold it back any longer. Tears catch her and claim her in a torrent. She runs right past her mother's open arms, instead latching herself on the doctor's waist. Slightly panicked, the doctor looks to Jane for help.

"Just take her to my bedroom and sit with her, please. I need to deal with this one."

She picks the girl up the best she can manage and hurries down the hall. Once in Jane's room, she pushes the door shut with her shoulder and returns to the job at hand.

"Charly?"

She crying quietly into the doctor's shoulder. It's heartbreaking. They were supposed to be having a nice evening with their mother in the mall, and now look what's happened.

It's her own fault, really. It has to be.

"Shh, it's alright." It's a sad attempt, really. She's not a mother. She doesn't know what to say or do to comfort the child. Should she sit? Should she put the girl down?

 _I don't know..._

 _Rosa! What would Rosa do?_

That's easy. She would tell Charly that she is brilliant and beautiful and that sometimes other kids are mean when they don't know what else to say. She would tell Charly her fighter clothes are awesome, and that she looks like she could take down an army of alien-bad-guys.

"Charly?"

"Wh-what?"

It takes her a moment to find the right words. In the meantime, she twists slowly left and right on her feet and rubs circles on Charly's back.

"Shh, _lucero_. It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here."

"She said I l-look st-stupid."

"I know, and that was very mean of her. But you don't look stupid."

"B-but she said‒"

"I heard her, but she's wrong. You could never look stupid."

The girl becomes heavy in her arms, and despite herself, the doctor can no longer hold on. "I'm going to put you down, okay?"

Charly tightens her arms around the doctor's neck, "No! No!"

"I'm not going to leave you."

...

It's a slow process, but she manages to get Charly to let go of her long enough to gently set her down on the bed. Her red, tear-streaked face yanks on the doctor's heart.

"May I take your boots off?"

Charly hesitates, but nods anyway, and the doctor carefully removes the bright red boots. She puts them on the floor against the wall, trying her best to be quick.

"Why does she bees mean?"

In truth, the doctor has no clue. She has tried to stay out of the child's way. She has let Sophie approach her instead of the other way around. She has given her no reason...

"She only said those things to you because she was mad at me."

Her eyes widen, "Why?"

"I'm... I'm not sure." She crosses the room again and sits at the edge of the bed. "Don't worry about her. Your mother is going to talk to her."

Charly nestles into her side, letting her legs dangle off the side of the bed just like the doctor. She spends a great deal of time wiping her tears away with her hands. "Are we still gonna go?"

"I don't think so. Maybe tomorrow." She runs her fingers through the dark mess of ringlets and loose curls hoping it's some kind of comfort. She should take notes. Otherwise, she'll forget how to do something as simple as console a child.

"And you'll go too?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Then I'll stay here with you! We can go to the park... an' get ice cream!" She sniffles, hurt giving way to excitement.

"It's up to your mother." There is no way Jane would trust her alone with her child in the outside world. She would lose her in a crowd or forget to hold her hand crossing the street! There are too many uncontrolled variables.

"Can... Doctor?"

"Yes?"

Charly pulls away from her and wiggles beneath the sheets, "Can you watch a show with me?"

"Certainly. What would you like to watch?"

She thinks about it for a few beats, "Renemer when you watched that show 'bout the ellofints?"

"I remember."

Last week she had sat down in the living room intent on reading a few of the medical newsletters she had signed up for when Charly charged into the room at full speed and turned on the TV. They sat together for an entire hour following the journey of a herd of elephants. The child was in utter awe of the creatures.

"You want to watch it again?"

"I like ellofints."

"Me too."

"Can we watch it? Please?"

"I don't know if it's on... but we can check."

As it turns out, a kangaroo documentary proves just as enthralling to the both of them. Before long, the doctor relaxes enough to remove her shoes and lean back against the headboard beside Charly. They are both so absorbed, neither one of them notices Jane step into the room.

"What're we watching?"

The doctor jumps a little, but it's Charly who answers, pointing at the screen with both hands, "It's 'bout those kangoos!"

"I can see that."

Jane circles around the bed and settles on the other side of her daughter, "Hey, kid."

"Hi, Mom," Charly greets, never once taking her eyes off the documentary. Jane chuckles and kisses the top of her head.

"Feelin' better?"

"Yeah... Where's Soph?"

"Taking a nap."

Charly goes back to the program, but the doctor is far too busy searching Jane's features for the words left unsaid for Charly's sake. "Is she okay?" she asks.

"Soph? Yeah, she's just tired, I guess. I'm sorry, Maur. I really don't know what to do with her. I'm hoping to god she grows out of it."

"It's fine, Jane."

Jane meets her eyes, "No, it's not. I saw your face back there. It's not fine. She hurt you."

"It's... okay."

"You don't have to say that if you don't mean it. Sometimes things aren't okay, Maura. And this? This isn't... But thank you."

Documentary forgotten. All she can focus on is Jane. "For what?"

She points at Charly, "For her. For helping me... For everything. I can't ever repay you."

 _Don't._

 _You just being here is enough._

"You're welcome."

…

.

 **Twenty Years Ago**

...

 _"What are we going to do with her?"_

 _"Shh, Arthur! She could hear you!"_

 _What they don't know is that she most certainly can hear in only the way one can in an old house. She hears everything. Listening intently is the only thing she knows to keep herself grounded._

 _"Constance, this isn't working out... What was it exactly that he told you?"_

 _"Arthur! How dare you say that! She's our daughter!"_

 _"I'm just reminding you that I did not sign up for this! I didn't ask for any part of this."_

 _"Arthur! I can't... Why are you bringing this up now?"_

 _"I went in to tell her goodnight, and you know what she was doing?"_

 _"...No."_

 _"She was sitting on her bed, staring at her closet and talking to it as if there was someone there."_

 _"So she has an imaginary friend."_

 _"No... I called out to her, and she looked right through me. Connie, the look she gave me... It wasn't the little girl I know. She's_ _ **different**_ _."_

 _"She's growing up."_

 _"Her eyes were completely vacant, Constance! There's something wrong with her. What did he tell you? I have a right to know what that_ _ **thing** __living in my house is!"_

 _Her mother cries out, pained at her husband's biting words. "She's not a_ _ **thing**_ _. She's a child."_

 _"Answer me."_

 _"I... I don't know. He didn't say she'd be different. He just told me to keep her safe until he comes back for her."_

 _"When?! When is he coming back?"_

 _"I don't know. He didn't say."_

 _"It's going to be too late. I can feel it... You know she killed that puppy I bought her for her third birthday? Last week she tried to steal the security tapes. I found them under her bed. She was only three then, Constance. She's almost ten years old. Think of what else she's capable of... Imagine what else she's done!"_

 _The child rocks back and forth on the floor, tears falling freely. She didn't mean to frighten her father earlier. The red girl wanted to talk, and as hard as she fought against_ _ **Her**_ _, she couldn't win._

 _"Then what do you propose we do?" her mother asks, voice shaking._

 _"Send her away to that boarding school." The sound of papers rustling only amplifies in her ears, "There's a boarding school in Maine. It's perfect."_

 _"Arthur, that's terrible! Wait! Where are you going?"_

 _She hears the sound of her father's suitcase rolling across the floor. "I'm going back to California, and I'd like you to come with me."_

 _"What about her? We can't just abandon her. We can't leave her here alone."_

 _"We can, and she won't be alone. We'll pay the staff as we are now, and they'll tend to her. But we'll be safe, please Constance, I don't think you understand what I saw."_

 _"Arthur... she's just a child."_

 _"Whatever that is up there... is_ _ **not** __a child. There's something deeply wrong with her, and I don't want to be here when in manifests itself."_

 _The conversation ends, but her tears have only begun._

 _"I'm so s-sorry."_

 _[No.]_

 _"They're going to leave me."_

 _[Yes. Good. You. Me.]_

 _"I don't want to be alone with you."_

 _Pressure. Her skull shrinks around her brain, and everything burns red._

 _"Okay!"_

 _[Good.]_

 _Twenty minutes later, she glances out the window. Fresh tears fall from her eyes as she follows the red girl to the window. They press their faces to the glass and watch as tail lights recede in the distance._

…

.

 **Present Time**

...

She wakes with a start, heart racing, cheeks wet. Movement beside her. A light clicks on. Jane.

"Maura?"

"They left us."

"What? Who left you?"

"They. Left. Us." She wipes at her eyes.

"Maur, you're not making sense. You were dreaming, that's all."

But the thing is, it wasn't a dream. The doctor doesn't dream, she remembers. Jane reaches out to her, but hesitates, "Can I touch you?" A small nod then she feels herself drawn inward. Given illusions of safety.

"You're safe. I promise."

 _I might be._

 _You're not._

Her brain finally catches up. They were learning about kangaroos... and now... She is in Jane's room. In Jane's arms. And there is no sign of the little girl.

"Charly?" she asks.

"I took her back to her room. She likes to kick in her sleep... I've got you. You can relax."

She lets herself sink into Jane's chest, focusing solely on regulating her heartbeat. There's something unique about Jane Rizzoli. She has the uncanny ability to remove uncontrolled variables. Not all, but enough to take away the sharpness. Enough to let the doctor see the rest of the way.

"Alright?"

 _No._

Jane eases them back down, pulling all the pillows to the side of the bed they are now occupying. After her thunderstorm episode, Jane has picked up on a few things. One of which is to not hold back. Squeeze her as tight as humanly possible or else she won't register anything. This time, she makes no mistake.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

The doctor shakes her head, not trusting her voice. As far as Jane is concerned, she's prone to nightmares. There is no monster in her head. She is normal.

"It's okay. You're okay," Jane mumbles, words and lips brushing the shell of her ear. "I'm here. You're safe."

Just because something is repeated in times of urgency doesn't make it any less hollow. Jane isn't aware of the falsity of her words. Why would she be?

 _They left me._

 _They had other options, but they left me._

 _Jane has other options._

"Don't go," she whispers, knowing there is no version of this where she doesn't come out sounding pathetic. Good thing her pride was whittled away to next to nothing by the time she exited her childhood. When she learned to stop fighting it.

"Never," Jane murmurs into her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

...

A flutter of a knock on her office door pulls her back from thoughts of last night. She searches her brain for a possible meeting planned or a file left undelivered, but she can think of nothing. Her eyes dart about the half-dozen sticky notes stuck to the frame of her monitor.

" _Important People: Susie (senior criminalist, dark hair, glasses) will deliver DNA test results. See page three of your notes."_

Susie... Susie... Chang? She tries to conjure up any kind of image involving the criminalist noted, but it's gone. Just like that, there's nothing.

"Come in."

A small woman steps inside, file in hand. She fits the description exactly.

Dark hair. Glasses. Plus the name tag and lab coat.

Susie Chang.

 _I knew that._

She takes the file from the criminalist and thanks her for remembering as if she is not the only one with faltering memory. An awkwardly polite smile and a few forced words later, Susie excuses herself and hurries out of her office.

" _See page three of your notes."_

The doctor fishes her notebook out of the top drawer and flips to the third page, running her fingers over her inked letters.

" _You remember. You do. The DNA results are to confirm you're not related to this monster. Check these against your old ones if you must."_

"I do remember..."

She looks at the sticky notes all around her, frightened and confused that the problem has become so great. This DNA test is the one she has been waiting for since the discovery of the latest victim. It was all she could think about at work, but somehow it slipped her mind for just a moment.

"What's happening to me?"

 _No, don't answer that. I already know what's happening._

[Stop then.]

"I can't."

[Why?]

"Because I love them, and I can't let them go... I can't."

Words are useless. _She_ is intelligent, for sure. But _She_ shows her own brain in her actions. _Her_ manipulations. _Her_ way of bending others to _Her_ will. Words will never mean a thing. A great act of love might get _Her_ to understand how deeply the doctor feels for the little family. But what would that entail?

 _Why can't you understand that they make me happy?_

[No.]

"Yes."

[No. Not anything.]

"Go away," she mutters, rubbing her temples, "I need to read this."

The doctor opens the manila folder expecting the worst but hoping for the best. She gets one of the two alright, and it just happens to be the former. It is amazing how just a drop of blood can reveal something so exponential. Like blood type... or a birth parent. One positive match might be a coincidence. But two? There is no question. Unmistakable autosomal profiles.

So it's true.

She drops the file onto her desk and pushes her face into her hands. A small part of her suspected it since the beginning. It was all too familiar. She didn't want to believe it.

 _I am a killer._

 _My father is a killer._

 _Monster. Monster. Monst e r._

...

Over Saturday breakfast, she tries to work up the nerve to tell Jane and the girls about the BPD softball game. But each and every time she opens her mouth to try, she just pictures Sophie throwing another fit. She has already created a fissure in their structure, and now she wants to keep her seismic activity at bay.

The girls run off, leaving their plates half-eaten like always, and Jane offers to do the dishes.

"You did them last night."

"It's the least I can do, Maur."

"At least let me help you."

"Deal." They take to the sink and find a rhythm‒ the doctor washing and Jane drying. It's a simple act, but Jane would never understand how much it means to her. Then it gradually changes into something else entirely.

It all starts with a less-than accidental hip bump from a party never willing to admit it. Then another... and another... and another. Then one of the two‒ no fault of her own, of course‒ may or may not have used her vast knowledge of physics to divert the steady downward flow of water towards the other with the use of a spoon.

"Dr. Isles," Jane says, turning her voice as well as her nose to the sky, "that was not very _doctorly_ of you."

"I'm sorry."

Jane pulls the drenched part of her t-shirt away from her body, an idea flashing in her eyes. "Nah, it's fine. You know what?" She holds her arms out wide, "I think we should hug it out."

She shakes her head, fighting her smile, "Jane... don't. I'm serious."

"Aw, come on, Maur. It's only fair."

She's right.

"Okay." She closes her eyes and holds her arms out to her sides, hoping it's fast. An arm snakes around her waist and pulls her in, stopping just short of further contact. She waits, anticipating.

Nothing.

She opens her eyes to find Jane smiling down at her. "What?"

"I can't do it, Maur. You just too damn innocent."

She is a murderer... but something tells her that is not the kind of innocent Jane is talking about.

Jane reaches out and lowers the doctor's arms back to her sides, keeping hold of her wrists. "Are you okay?"

She has been asking that same question ever since they met, but this time, the doctor accepts it. It's clear she makes Jane worry. And after the other night, she has every right to ask.

"I'm fine."

"You know I'm here if you ever want to talk about it, right?"

"I know."

Another smile. The kind that makes the doctor really believe everything is okay. "I'm a great listener."

 _You wouldn't believe me. You'd think me insane._

 _But if you did somehow believe me... You'd be out of your mind not to run._

"Some other time maybe?"

The doctor nods, but her answer says locked behind her teeth. Because if one word gets out, everything will spill. There isn't an outcome that ends well for everyone involved, but she has the power to leave them outcome-less.

Just keep quiet.

Don't talk about it. Don't think about it.

Change the subject.

"Jane?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you like softball?"

...

Charly squirms in her booster seat, clearly the most excited of the four of them. Even ill-tempered Sophie couldn't drone at the notion of going to the park with her mother and sister. After her little outburst earlier in the week, she has kept mostly to herself.

Sophie hums along to a song heard only to her, kicking the back of the doctor's seat to the rhythm. She gets a little carried away with the dull sound it makes and forgets about her song to kick rapidly at the seat.

"Hey, Soph. Calm down a little, okay? Doctor's trying to drive."

"Sorry, Doctor."

"You're fine, sweetie." It just slips out like nothing. But it's everything. The way Sophie meets her eyes in the rearview mirror is everything. A silent, grateful _thank you_ is exchanged between the both of them. And maybe, just maybe this is the beginning of an understanding.

"Are we o'mos there?" Charly asks excitedly.

"Almost, kid," Jane says over her shoulder. "Hey, Maur?"

"Yes?"

"I didn't know you liked softball."

"I don't," she admits, "but a co-worker invited me... and I thought you and the girls might like it."

Jane settles back into her seat, smiling a little. "Alright, but tomorrow I'm taking you to do something you actually want to do."

"I want to do this. I like... I like spending time with you."

Charly leans forward in her seat. "I like you, too, Doctor... Are we there yet?"

...

"Hey! You made it!" Detective Frost call from the dugout when he sees them walking up. He jogs out the door to meet them. "Hey, doc... and?"

"Um... Jane and her daughters Charly and Sophie," she points to each one of them. "This is Detective Frost." Jane tenses a bit, but the doctor barely notes it.

"Barry on the weekends," he laughs a little, but the doctor is too nervous about their meeting to say anything. He offers his hand and Jane reaches out, but Charly beats him to it.

"Hello, Barry-man. I'm Charly."

"Hey, Charly. It's nice to meet you. You sure do look a lot like your sister."

Charly nods, "Yeah! We're twins, but I'm taller, an' my shoes are bigger."

"Wow, that's great!"

"Hey, Frosty! Sleeper's a no-show!" Crowe yells from the dugout.

Frost shakes his head, "Dang it!"

"What's wrong?" Jane asks.

"We were counting on Sleeper to be our ninth man. Can't play for crap, but he made nine."

The doctor sees the idea flash in Charly's eyes before Jane does. Before Jane can stop the girl from volunteering her mother as their ninth man, the girl shouts, "Mom can play! Mom's the bestest in the whole word. She can hit it outta the world!" Charly tugs on the doctor's shirt, "Can Mom play?"

"Would you?" Frost asks, words neutral, but eyes begging. "We're playing against the fire department. I'd give anything to shut them up for just five minutes... Please?"

Jane looks over at the dugout, winces, and takes a small step away. The doctor has never seen her quite like this. She reaches out a wraps her fingers gently around the brunette's wrist feeling a bit backwards, "Are you okay?"

She nods, "Yeah... Yeah, sure. I'll play."

Charly jumps up and thrusts her little fists in the air, "Yes!"

Even Sophie looks excited. A big thing, apparently. But the doctor can see it in the way Jane is holding herself. The way her eyes keep darting back. It's not fear, but something like it. Reluctance maybe? She doesn't know people. Give her a corpse, and she will tell you everything there is to know. But the living? The puzzle is too great.

She takes the girls to the bleachers as Jane follows Frost back to the dugout. At Charly's insistence, they settle on the top row. Sophie chooses a seat one level down, but not unreasonably far. She is within reaching distance. Charly, on the other hand, finds her seat right on the doctor's lap.

The girl wraps one arm around her neck and hangs off the doctor like she is some kind of jungle gym, "Look, Doctor! You can see all the game!"

"Charly?"

"What?"

"You're hurting me a little bit."

The child gasps and leans back, removing the strain on the doctor's neck. "Sorry, Doctor!" She scrambles in her lap, all knees and elbows, stopping just long enough to press a tiny kiss to the doctor's cheek. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

But it's so much more than that.


	13. Krokodil

It's a landslide.

For the Boston Fire Department‒ that is. Despite Crowe's, Frost's, and even Jane's best efforts, BPD is no match for the firemen. The second the last inning finishes up, Jane slips away from the other players undetected as Crowe gives a player on the other team an earful.

"Hey, you," she says to the doctor when she reaches the bleachers. "I hope they weren't too difficult."

"Not at all." The girls only cheered when Jane was on the diamond, and while she was in the dugout, they chased each other around in the grass right behind the bleachers. They made it easy. "You did well out there."

"Thanks." Jane's eyes never leave hers. Once ferociously dark eyes now hold nothing but softness. She hopes Jane's unspoken way of letting her know she is dropping her guard. But a woman like Jane certainly has more than one line of defense. A diamond formation of spear-wielding foot soldiers. Unscalable walls. Locked doors. Closed curtains. Defense mechanisms.

Unbreakable.

So she won't break her. Only let her choose when and how. Of all people, the doctor certainly understands what it's like to be pushed.

"Yeah! Mom, you were the bestest there ever was!" Charly exclaims, reaching her arms out to her mother. "Even Soph liked it."

"You did?"

Sophie gives a small nod, "Yes! Mom, you hit it _so_ far!"

Frost heads over with Crowe following at a distance shouting into his smartphone. The doctor can't help but notice the way Jane hastily reassembles her walls again as Frost greets them and waits as Crowe finds something more pressing on his phone.

"Nice job out there, Jane!" Frost says, happy as can be. Nothing ever seems to stamp out that flame of his.

"You weren't so bad yourself."

Crowe looks up from his phone and offers his hand to Jane, "Sorry. Never gotta chance to officially meetcha... Hey, wait a second... I know you."

Jane shifts Charly to her other hip, "Um... No, I don't think so."

He shakes his head, smile gone. "You're Jane Rizzoli."

 _What? But… how?_

"Back in Chicago? Darren Crowe? Ring any bells?" When he gets no response, his frown deepens, but he continues anyway, "I guess you wouldn't remember me. I was in the drug unit."

Jane shakes her head, "You must have me confused with someone else."

She wants out.

"Um, Jane... We really need to get going." It's not a complete lie. It's getting dark out, and the girls shouldn't be wound up so late. "It was nice to see you, Detectives."

Jane gives Frost an apologetic smile, "You'll get 'em next time."

"One day. I can feel it!" Frost says, clasping his hands in front of him. "It was nice to meet you all. Doc over here doesn't talk much about her family."

 _Family..._

They say their goodbyes, and Jane walks away Charly calling her own farewells over her mother's shoulder. "Bye bye, Barry-man! See you next time!"

The doctor reaches out with her hand to motion for Sophie to stand up and follow her to the car, but the little girl grabs hold of the outstretched hand, wanting help down from the bleachers.

"So I guess I'll see you on Monday, doc."

She gets Sophie safely to the ground, fully expecting the child to yank her hard free. Much to her surprise, Sophie holds fast and swings their hands back and forth while she registers Frost's words.

"Yes... I'll see you then."

Crowe shifts on his feet, hands shoved in pockets, "Um, see ya, Queenie. Nice to have a cheer section."

As much as she wanted to show her support, she found herself zoning off quite regularly… but they don't have to know that. "Goodbye, Detective."

Sophie gives the two a disinterested wave and tugs the doctor in the direction Jane and Charly left in. "C'mon, Doctor. I can't see, Mom."

"They're just at the car, Sophie." She allows the girl to pull her back toward the parking lot.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Why did that man call you Queenie?"

"I suppose it's sort of a nickname."

"A nickname? Why?"

"I don't know... I never really thought much of it."

"Why?"

She shrugs, then scolds herself at the rudeness of the gesture. Answers are to be in vocal form. A gesture will never suffice. She had spent years of building up manners only to find out everything she was taught is next to useless in the real world. People do cut in line, use double negatives, split infinitives, and shrug their shoulders.

"It's just a joke at the police station."

"Why?"

"Because... I guess I'm a little different."

"Why?"

Jane mentioned this before. The _Why_ game‒ one of Sophie's personal favorites. She could go on forever, stopping only when she sees fit.

"Why? Why? Why?" Sophie giggles, swinging their hands high, "Why? Why? Why?"

She can't help the smile overpowering her mouth, "Okay, silly. That's enough."

"Why?"

"Sophie..."

"Why? Why? Why?"

The doctor sighs. Defeated by a four-year-old playing the _Why_ game. But the fact that Sophie is even talking to her isn't lost.

"Hey, Doctor?"

Half-expecting another _why_ , the doctor braces herself. "Yes?"

"Mom said I have to try to be nice."

An explanation for the change in her behavior. "I think you're doing a good job."

"But I _can't_ be nice."

"Why not?"

"Because I see you, Doctor. I _see_ you. See you! _See_ you."

"What?"

"See you! See you," she giggles skipping along the path to the parking lot.

"I... I don't understand."

"Can't be nice. Nope. No. No. Not nice. Charly thinks she's s'posed to be a superhero. But she's wrong, Doctor. It's _me._ I am. I gotta save Mom and Charly."

"Save them from what?" she asks, but Sophie swings their hands in the air one last time, completely ignoring the doctor's question. "From what, sweetie?"

"You."

"Me? But why?"

"Because you're evil." Straight-faced. Simple.

The doctor freezes, but the little girl doesn't notice until their joined hands stop her like a taut leash. Sophie spins around, face confused like she has no idea the caliber of the words she has just said.

"Doctor?"

" _Because you're evil."_

A pit forms in her stomach as she tries and fails to convince herself that Sophie is just over-imaginative. She's just a kid. There's no way she knows the truth. It's not possible.

"Doctor? Doctor?" she tugs on the doctor's hand, "Let's go."

They reach the car, Jane and Charly already buckled in and ready to go. But the doctor no longer feels at ease with their situation. She buckles Sophie into her booster and slides behind the wheel, dazed. Across from her, Jane is in the same state for reasons still unknown.

"Les'go, Doctor! I'm super hungry!" Charly says in a sing-song voice from the backseat.

"Me too," Sophie chimes in.

...

She tries her hand at macaroni and cheese.

If Jane hadn't retreated to her bedroom the second they got inside, she could have read the instructions in that playfully condescending voice the doctor has grown to love. Secretly, of course. She wouldn't give Jane the power of knowing.

It isn't terribly difficult. Simple ingredients. Simple instructions. Simple.

She fills two colorful plastic bowls and tries to decide whether or not to make a bowl for Jane as well. Assuming either way is an impossibility, so she leaves the kitchen in search of her.

...

The doctor finds Jane's door cracked open just enough to see some light. She goes to knock but freezes when she hears Jane's voice. Her hand hovers in the air, suspended.

All her life she has been listening through cracked doors, echoing air vents, and paper-thin walls. The action comes as naturally as reflexes or pupil dilation. She knows it's wrong, but she can't find it in herself to walk away. She manages a few steps back, but Jane's voice is just as clear.

"He recognized me! You told me that wouldn't happen... He's _from_ Chicago. He knew me, and they work _together_... He's going to tell her... Yeah, he is... You weren't there. He knows who I am... He's going to tell her who I am... No, I have no idea, I was in homicide. He must've been straight outta the academy or something. Look, I'm doing exactly what you told me to do, and you're out there doing god knows what... You didn't warn me. You didn't take the time to check out the precinct… I want you to fix this. I don't care how. I have to go. "

As terrible as the doctor is at reading interactive situations, she knows the outright absurdity of knocking and trying to speak to her.

" _He's going to tell her who I am."_

She turns on her heels and hurries back into the kitchen to serve the girls.

 _Who are you, Jane?_

...

Sophie vomits in the middle of the night, and the doctor realizes that macaroni and cheese might not be as simple as she thought. She finds the child clutching the sheets with dirty hands and sobbing over the mess she has made on the floor beside the bed.

Charly points to the mess on the rug, "Look, Doctor! She throwed up! I saw!"

"Okay," she herds Charly away from the mess. "Go get your mother."

"No!" Sophie wails. "I don't want her to see it!"

"Should I get Mom?" Charly asks, tugging on her shirt like always. But this time, it's too much for the doctor to handle all at once.

She pulls Charly's hand away. "No... Just go wait in my bedroom. Don't wake your mother right now."

The child shakes her head, "No, I can help you, Doctor. I can be a good helper."

"Thank you, but I don't want you near your sister. If she's sick, I don't want you to catch it."

"I won't! I won't! I'm super tough." Another tug on her shirt. "I can help!"

"Charly, please go sit in my room. My cell phone is on the nightstand. You may play it, but you need to stay away. I don't want you anywhere near this, okay?"

"But I wanna _help_ you." The girl tugs at the bottom of her shirt again. Incessant. Too close. Smothering. Yes, she wants to be helpful, but in truth, she is just in the way.

"Please go, Charly. I'll come and get you when it's cleaned up." Stern.

"But, _Doctor_ ," she whines.

" _Now_ , Charlotte." Foot down. She is met with watery brown eyes before the girl turns and runs from the room. She feels like a monster. A villain even. But she can't leave Sophie and go after her.

Softer now, she carefully makes her way to the clean side of the bed. "Sophie, I think I need to get your mother."

"No! No, please. No!"

"Okay. Okay. Calm down. It's okay."

"Don't get her! Please. I... I want _you_ ," the child says with more frantic intensity in her eyes than any child should ever have. She's panicking– something the doctor knows all-too-well.

"Alright, come here." Softly. Softly. Softly. "It's okay. We have to get you cleaned up."

"You're gonna tell my mom." Another sob wracks her little body.

"I have to tell her, Sophie... But I promise I'll clean it all up first so she can't see it."

Jane will be angry or upset at the very least. Her child threw up, and she didn't tell her until after it was all cleaned up and forgotten. But prematurely telling Jane would wound Sophie, and something tells her this particular child does not take well to betrayal.

"Come on, it's okay, baby. It's okay."

Sophie pushes the covers back and crawls across the bed, slow and afraid. She wraps her arms around the doctor's neck as if her life depends on it, fresh tears falling from her eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asks, rubbing circles and trying not to think about the vomit that might be all over the both of them at this point.

"I feel yucky."

"Do you feel better, though?"

"Yes. My tummy hurted... but... not so much now."

"See, that's good." She shifts Sophie to her hip and uses her free hand to sort through their dresser for clean pajamas.

"No, those are Charly's." Another set, "Not the same."

"How about these?" She holds up some a pajama set from a Disney movie, hoping they will work.

"Yeah, I like those."

She takes Sophie into the guest bathroom‒ the one recently re-decorated and so strangely themed around monster trucks and fireflies‒ and starts up the shower.

"Okay, baby," she wipes the tears from the child's cheeks with her thumbs, "you're okay. Remember what you said earlier? You're strong. You're a superhero."

"I am?"

The doctor pats her belly, "Yes, you are. Don't let a little tummy bug make you sad, okay? Just rinse off in here while I go clean the mess. I'll just be in your room, so call me if you need me."

"Okay," the child wipes a hand across her face, "Okay, Doctor, I will."

...

Mess cleaned at the expense of her Persian rug, she returns to the bathroom to check on Sophie. She finds the child brushing her teeth almost violently, her hair dripping all over her clean shirt, and the shower still running.

The doctor shuts off the water and grabs her damp towel off the floor. She ruffles it through Sophie's hair in just the way she has seen Jane do countless times.

Sophie spits into the sink and makes a face, "It's in my mouth, Doctor."

"Maybe try some mouthwash?" she points to the pink liquid that's supposed to be bubblegum‒ which seems like the least helpful flavor when it comes to oral hygiene. After another minute, the girl gives up trying to get the taste out of her mouth and follows the doctor back to her bedroom where Charly is curled up on the bed.

The child whose heart she broke, then forgot all about her. She wonders if she really is a monster on every level of her existence.

Sophie snatches her phone from the nightstand and climbs up beside Charly to play it. "Hah, I get it this time, Charly!"

Charly sniffles and turns her face into the pillow, "Don't care!"

 _What have I done?_

"Charly... Charly, will you look at me?"

"No!" She says something else, but the pillow blocks out her words.

"What?"

She turns her head a little, "You yelled at me."

It's totally and completely true. She yelled at the child and called her Charlotte, knowing full well just how much she hates being called that.

 _I'm trying, Charly… But I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing._

"Doctor, you yelled at me! I wanted to help you, and you yelled!" A little red face emerges from the pillow, a look of pure hurt in her eyes.

 _I did that. I hurt her._

"I know, and I'm sorry," she reaches out but stops just inches from the child's face. "I'm sorry, Charly. I didn't mean to yell, it's just sometimes... sometimes messes are too big for kids." It's the best explanation she can think of and it's terrible.

"Not for me. I'm a good helper."

"I know. Maybe I was a little overwhelmed... Sophie was crying, there was a big mess, and you were too close... I'm sorry."

"Too close?"

 _How to explain to a child you don't know how to handle anything. Step one: you don't. You don't make them feel like the burden they're not._

"Sometimes Doctor needs a little space..."

Charly's face falls, and she knows deep inside she is saying all the wrong things. But a new realization dawns upon her. What if there isn't a right way? All she can do is try, and that might just be enough.

"But I didn't mean to raise my voice at you... I'm sorry." She kneels beside the bed, eye-level with the child, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

After a moment of silence, she decides to just leave her alone. "Okay..." she gets to her feet, "I'm going to get your mother... for Sophie."

But Jane is already there, stretching in the doorway. She's half-asleep and unbelievably beautiful in her low-slung sweatpants and ratty t-shirt, hair wild, and eyes tired.

"What's going on in here?" she asks, losing her balance and steadying herself on the door jamb.

Sophie sits up, arms outstretched to her mother, "I throwed up, Mama."

Jane lifts the girl into her arms and checks her forehead for a fever. She mumbles something only Sophie can here, and the doctor feels more out of place ever. This family... This beautiful family doesn't belong to her, and it's about time she stepped back.

"Where'd she throw up?"

"In the bedroom."

"Alright," she starts to put Sophie back down, "I'll go clean it up."

"I... I already did."

Jane stops, child halfway in her arms, "What?"

"I, um. I cleaned it."

"Oh god, Maura, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to do stuff like that... Why didn't you wake me up?"

A slight shrug and a self-scolding because, despite the world around her, the doctor is polite. She won't tell Jane that Sophie was embarrassed. She won't. Instead, she tells Jane she didn't want to wake her and that it wasn't any trouble.

Sensing that's as far as it's going, Jane nods once, "Thank you."

Jane starts to collect her children again, telling them they can come to bed with her if they'd like, but Charly won't move. She won't even look up from the pillow she's shoved her face into, and the doctor feels a pang of guilt chased by a stab of sadness.

 _My fault._

 _It's my fault._

"What's wrong, kid?" Jane asks as if it's a joke. She is completely oblivious to the tears shed just minutes ago. She gives her daughter's shoulder a shake and pokes at her ribs, but Charly is set on ignoring her. "Charly?"

Sophie taps on her mother's shoulder, "Mom, Doctor yelled at her."

"You did?" Jane asks her, eyes hard, protective of her child. Where is that softness she loves so much? Gone.

"I... I didn't mean to yell..." she starts but stops herself when she feels Jane's eyes on her. Dark. Piercing... Angry. It's then when she realizes that it doesn't matter what she says.

An invisible hand shoves her chest. Her back hits the wall, pushing the air from her lungs.

[Threat.]

 _No, it's just… Jane._

Jane scoops Charly off the bed, kicking and screaming, and seizes Sophie's hand in the other. Sophie cries out in protest, but Jane pays her no mind. Her gaze burns right through the doctor's fragile heart, and for the first time, Jane makes her feel the complete opposite of safe.

" _You_ don't yell at _my_ kid." And with that, she leaves, Sophie reaching back to the doctor as they go.

...

[Danger.]

She grips the countertop in her bathroom, eyes screwed shut, heart thudding too fast in her chest. This time, she has really done it. And the worst part: it was all her. _She_ didn't help at all. The only one to blame is herself. What was she thinking yelling at someone else's child?

And Jane.

No one loves more fiercely than Jane Rizzoli. But family will always come first. A single tear falls from her cheek onto the counter, though she isn't sure what she is feeling is sadness. Maybe acceptance of inevitability, but sadness? Doubtful.

"It was going so well," she whispers to no one.

[No.]

"Yes, it was."

[No Jane.]

 _What?_

[Threat.]

"I don't want to hear this right now. She would never hurt me."

[Yes. You evil.]

"I'm not. You are."

[No.]

"I don't want to talk to you. You make it... worse."

[Who then? Mother? Father? Rosa?]

"I don't want your illusions. Not anymore. It's not real. None of it is. I want you to leave me alone."

[Can't.]

 _Can't or won't?_

[Can't. Won't.]

"You wanted her to leave me… I think she just might."

...

Unable to find sleep, the doctor ventures into the kitchen in hopes of finding a small household chore to keep her mind busy. To her dismay, the kitchen is immaculate. Just as it has been for a while now. After an entire gallon of Sunny D magically ended up coating the kitchen floor, two four-year-olds earned a ban on entering the kitchen without permission.

She opens the pantry‒ relieved to find the lack of organization‒ and makes slow, methodical work of alphabetizing soups and Spaghetti O's and color coordinating sectors for Barbie and Scooby-Doo fruit snacks. When she finishes, it's a masterpiece of order.

From there she moves to the cabinets and begins to match tumble cup sets and stack colored bowls in rainbow order. She is so absorbed in her work, she doesn't feel the eyes trained on her back.

"You know it's three in the morning, right?"

A yellow Winnie the Pooh cup falls from her hand and clatters noisily on the floor. She bends to pick it up, careful to keep her eyes off Jane.

"I'm sorry. I'll be quieter."

"It's your house."

She places the cup with its identical twin and shuts the cabinet, cursing herself for not taking more time. Now she has nothing to make her look busy.

Jane takes a step toward her but stops when the doctor backs into the counter like fear is her best friend. Jane rakes a hand through her hair, and when she speaks, it's low and quiet: "I didn't think of you back there, and I'm sorry."

Before tonight, the doctor would have done the polite thing, the easy thing, the non-confrontational thing and just forgiven her. Smiled and said _It's alright, Jane. I shouldn't have yelled at her. I'm sorry for ruining your night._ But there is something in that turns her stomach. Before tonight, she would have blamed herself, shouldered some unnecessary guilt, convinced herself that she just wasn't thinking.

But now? Now that she has seen the anger in Jane's eyes and felt the sharpness of her words? Not. A. Goddamn. Chance.

"I forgot."

"Excuse me?"

"I forgot how much you mean to me and the girls. I didn't even ask your side of the story or even Charly's... I just assumed you were this monster. But you're _not_. I don't know why I said what I did, you have every right to scold my kids or even me."

"You hurt me, and‒"

"I know, Maur, and I'm so sorry."

A small part of her wants to forgive Jane and let things return to the way they were, but the rest is holding her back and telling her that there is no _back to normal_ and that this apology is too good to be true. The doctor's hands curl into the bottom of her own tank top. "You hurt me," she repeats, something like anger slipping beneath her words, " _and_ if you really cared about me, you wouldn't have forgotten."

"Maura..."

"Goodnight, Jane," she says, forcing herself to walk past her. Jane's eyes are so cold, she sees no trace of the woman that holds her close at night whispering that everything is going to be okay. Her Jane has vanished into thin air.

"Maura, wait!" Jane steps in front of her, blocking her. "Please."

But she can't. She doesn't feel safe anymore. Not with this Jane. Not anywhere. A lifetime full of hurt, she doesn't need any more. Jane reaches for her hand, but the doctor pulls away until she bumps into the counter. She doesn't know how to feel or what to do or how to stop this stabbing feeling in her chest. She closes her eyes.

 _Five: Jane, what are you doing to me? What do you want with me? You are so unclear. Four: You're too close to me. Stop. And then you're twenty feet away. I can feel you. Three: My body is not always my own. Did I ever tell you that? I see things. People. There are times when I'm not me at all._

 _Two:_

"Maura… will you look at me?" She feels a hand at her hip, gentle enough to keep her from prying away again. Soft like _hear me out, please._ She realizes she has a decision to make.

 _One:_

She opens her eyes and Jane is there. Close to her in a way that only she can be. So close it reminds the of sleep‒ her eyelids flutter on their own accord. "Maura." Fingertips trace along her jaw before disappearing into her hair. She waits until she cannot resist anymore before she looks up.

"I care about you," Jane whispers, "I care about you so much, I don't know how to tell you. I know that I hurt you, and I don't expect you forgive me, but if you will let me, I'll do everything I can to make it up to you."

Something within the doctor dies then, she wraps her arms around Jane, skipping over the puzzle of her own emotions for just this one singular moment. Jane presses her lips to her forehead, smooth and warm, but it isn't enough. She isn't looking to be comforted.

"Jane." Lips graze her cheekbones, her nose, moving slowly and softly. She tightens her fingers in Jane's t-shirt, hoping to convey the exact type of urgency she seems to be drowning in.

Jane smiles against her cheek as her hand slips beneath her shirt, fingers splayed, palm against her spine, strong. And then Jane's lips are on hers and against hers. Warmth curls through her and coils in her stomach.

She is coherent. She is alive.

What she feels rolling through her is love.

...

The doctor nearly floats into work on Monday.

If the other detectives and lab techs notice, they make it a point to keep it to themselves. After all, she _is_ the queen of the dead, dreamy smile or not.

In her office, she sifts through her notes, not even the least bit irritated when her phone interrupts her reviewing. She answers without checking the ID. "Dr. Isles."

"Maura, it's Crowe. I need to talk to you."

She vaguely wonders what happened to his nickname for her, "Hello, Detective."

"Look, I dunno what she told you, but it sure as hell ain't the truth."

She pulls the phone away from her ear for a few seconds and stares at it like she's never seen it before, "Excuse me?"

"Jane Rizzoli. Look, I'll explain it all when I get down there, but you need to stay away from her."

For some reason, she feels like laughing, "Is this another one of your practical jokes?"

He groans, "No. Listen to me, Maura. This is serious. I called some of my buddies back in Chicago to see if they remembered her, and they did. Oh, they _did..._ She's a wanted fugitive."

The doctor tightens her grip on the phone, "This is really too far, Detective Crowe. Nicknames? Fine. But my personal life? Please do‒" The words die on her tongue as the cloud she's been floating on all weekend vaporizes.

" _They work_ _ **together**_ _."_

" _He's going to tell her who I am."_

"I'm getting into the elevator. I'll be right there. You _need_ to hear this."

She drops the phone onto her desk and stands, not knowing what to do with herself. No... Jane wasn't talking about her. Someone else. Everything she heard is out of context, and Crowe is just playing a prank.

 _No. No. No._

 _Everything is_ _ **fine**_ _._

The lights flicker above twice before cutting out altogether. It will be a few minutes before the morgue generators kick in, but she pulls on her lab coat anyway to check to make sure everyone else is okay.

...

The morgue is eerily quiet.

Not an ME, criminalist, or lab tech in sight. Usually, it is relatively quiet when there are no autopsies scheduled, but never like this. She at least expects to see someone sneaking their lunch into the lab or working up the nerve to knock on her door to deliver files.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

"Is anybody down here?"

Never before has the doctor felt uneasy being alone, but right now she doesn't feel alone. She just can't see anyone.

"Hello?"

She waits but there's no answer. She thinks of Crowe and how he must be stuck in the elevator. Come to think of it, she would feel a lot better if he had made it down here. Though unsavory, on some level he's a good man, and definitely a good cop. Seeking safety, she turns and hurries back to her office just as the lights begin to flicker, generator kicking in.

She hears a crackling noise and freezes, legs paralyzed far beyond hopes of taking another step. The lights flicker on and off, combating the new power source. She turns around quickly like ripping off a band-aid. But all she sees is the on-again-off-again empty lab.

Sighing in relief, she turns to go back into her office.

But she never makes it.

The back of her head explodes white hot, and she stumbles forward, all balance lost. Thick cloth pressed over her mouth. Her vision falters. Her chin slumps against her chest.

The doctor fades.


	14. Infinity

_Four have sealed, could it be?_

.

The doctor wakes, disoriented, her stomach sick from the metallic taste of her own blood. She tries to sit up only to discover her hands and feet are bound. Head pounding, she grits her teeth and forces her eyes open.

It's dark. There's nothing but the cold metal beneath her and the thick heat hanging over her head. She slides her hands out in front of her, reaching for something she doesn't know, dirt gritty against sheet metal. Within just a few seconds, her hands press firmly against something smooth and cool to the touch.

Glass.

She tries another direction, fingertips meeting metal. Another. Glass. Trapped. A metal box... with windows?

 _Are you there?_

[Here.]

 _Where are we?_

[No know. No know.]

Her senses catch up with her, and she realizes that it's not a metal box at all. The slow rumble of an idling vehicle. The bed of a truck? The back of a van. The lack of airflow weighs heavily on her chest, but she wills herself not to panic, to try and think logically. She is alive. As of right now, there is no looming threat. Just trapped. Just _trapped_. But why?

She hears it now. The low droning of voices in the front of the van. She strains to hear the muffled words of an exchange she's certain she's not supposed to be hearing.

"He told us not to hurt her. She's no good to him that way." Low. Hushed. Angry.

"Well, what was I supposed to do? Ask her to come with me? Fucking curtsey?"

"You could've killed her. Boss ain't gonna be happy about this."

"Oh, what's he gonna do?"

"I'm not gonna go down 'cause'a your dumb ass."

The van shifts as if one of them is situating themselves in the seat. "Who is she anyways?"

"I dunno. Some doctor."

"No shit. The fucking lab coat didn't give that away." Sarcastic. Sharp like a knife, serrated in intonation. She is certain now she's their prisoner. It has to be a dream. Things like this don't happen, right? Doctors aren't kidnapped from their offices and held captive, bound in the back of a van. It's not real. It's all a dream.

But it's not.

Hopelessness. She's drowning in it. Every corner of her mind whispers, reminding her that she is at their mercy. Alone, she isn't strong enough, but she wouldn't dare let _Her_ lend aid. She simply couldn't handle the repercussions.

Low again. Twice as angry. "She's been out too long. Go check on her."

"Why do I gotta do it?"

"You know what? You're right. I'll do it. You'd probably try to kill her again."

The driver's side door opens and slams, and her heart kicks up double-time. She scrambles back to where she woke just moments before, trying her best the mimic her exact position. Dim light from a nearby streetlamp floods in as the back doors fly open, introducing a fresh wave of hot air.

"Hey!" He clears his throat, "You awake?"

 _What do we do?_

[No know.]

When she doesn't answer, he slams the doors shut, sealing away the light and climbs back into the driver's seat.

 _Please, please…_

[Help?]

She lets out a shaky breath of relief and nods, but none of this brings her any closer to calm. Just thinking about it fuels the headache burning inside her cranium. "Please..."

The way she falls could be called dreamless sleep, but in all medical honesty‒ the doctor passes out.

...

.

 **Seventeen Years Ago**

...

 _Often times the child sits in her room and thinks of infinity. It excites her to think of something so completely unfathomable. Something she cannot gauge or measure. If there is one thing that brings her out of her shell, it's knowledge._

 _"Really, if you think about it, you realize that you can't think about it at all. It's not that it's too large. Your mind has no bounds. But there's no way to rationalize infinity. Anything thinkable falls flat, unable to capture it." She tries desperately to explain this to her mother over the phone, but Constance Isles has no time for talk of infinities and brushes her daughter off more than any parent should. And she knows it._

 _"Imagine the earth, the universe, space‒ imagine it all ends! And there's a wall. Infinity ends at this magnificent wall... But what's behind the wall?"_

 _"Darling, I don't understand your interest in... in this nonsense."_

 _"But, Mother! The_ _ **wall**_ _. It's the only way to even remotely fathom. But don't you see? It's so much bigger than you or me or Daddy! It's bigger than anything you can imagine!"_

 _"That's wonderful, Maura. Really."_

 ** _Liar. Liar. Liarliarliar. Liar._**

 _She is thirteen years old. If nothing else, she knows the drill. Saddened. "Yes... I've... Never mind. How is Paris?"_

 _"Great, darling..." Muffled noises and the girl knows her mother has covered the receiver to talk to someone she can't see. "Yes, it's great, darling. I'm sorry, you caught me at a terrible time. I'll call you on Sunday. Goodbye."_

 _And the call is over._

 _And Sunday comes._

 _And the phone does not ring._

 _..._

 _She fills her days with finding an answer but it always comes back to the wall. There is nothing scientific about this quest which is odd for her, but she decides this can be an experiment in and of itself. Do people believe they can put infinity into a box?_

 _Too old for nannies, she tries to recite her findings to the gardener. It takes her weeks to work up the nerve to talk to him. To gather enough bravery to ask him a single question._

 _Her search lasts only a matter of minutes as the gardener is almost always tending to the prized flowers in the middle of the garden. He's older than the garden itself, back hunched over from years of pulling weeds and maintaining perfection. It's all for nothing it seems. He's the only one that sees the garden._

 _She perches herself on the stone bench, trying her best not to fret over the vulnerability of sitting out in the open. "Um... Mister.?"_

 _He turns, not at all surprised to see her sitting behind him. But the frown that carves itself into his wrinkled face is enough to make her want to run back inside. She must press on._

 _"Do you think there's an end to everything?"_

 _He shoulders the hose he had been rolling and removes his gloves, "Look, little lady. I'm not s'posed to talk to you."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"I'm just not s'posed to. You father made it very clear."_

 _"My... my father?"_

 ** _Of course._**

 _He nods and rubs at his nose, "Why don't you go back inside? You shouldn't be out here in the sun."_

 _..._

 _She tries to tell her driver, Edmond, on the way to school the next morning, but she gets much the same result._

 _The chef after her private ballet lesson. Same._

 _Even the Croatian maid who speaks just a few words of English. Nothing._

 _No one listens. It's not so much she cares they learn about her infinity, she understands it's all nonsense. A waste of time. What she really wants is someone_ ‒ _anyone at all_ ‒ _who will spend more than just a few fleeting moments with her._

 _But no one listens._

 _..._

 _The red girl sits with her on the edge of her bed, swinging **Her** legs back and forth with no end. She closes her constellation book and turns toward the girl, deciding to tell __**Her**_ _. No one else seems to want to know what lies on the other side of the end._

 _"Um... Do you believe there's an end?"_

 _The red girl glares at her as if burdened by the question. "No know."_

 _"Have you ever thought about it?"_

 _"Yes. I you."_ _ **She** __points to_ _ **Her** __own head, then to the young girl's. "I am you. You, me think. Together."_

 _"Where do you go when I can't see you?"_

 _"In you."_ _ **She** __looks annoyed and so very bothered by this conversation._

 _"I've grown, you know? Look at me. I thought you would go away by now, but you're still here."_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Why are you here?" Always the same question. Always the same silence that follows. Maybe there's not a reason at all. Purely a lack of fortune. They have grown together. As the child grows, the red girl grows with her. If Maura Isles is pretty, the red girl is gorgeous._ _ **She**_ _is tall and powerful, perfectly featured. And that hair. There's nothing to compare it to... except maybe fire traveling down a spiral staircase. But even that doesn't do_ _ **Her** __justice._

 _"Why are you in my head?"_

 _"Enough."_

 _She leans back against her pillows, frowning as the red girl seems to evaporate into thin air. Of course,_ _ **She** __is never really there. It's all an illusion. A trick of her mind. A mind she shares with a monster._

 _[The man.]_

 _"The gardener? Do you need something from him?"_

 _[No.]_

 _She sits up, "Then what is it?"_

 _[No listen.]_

 ** _Oh._**

 _"No, it's okay. It's all just nonsense anyway. It's not his job to listen to me."_

 _[Mother.]_

 _"She's busy. That's all."_

 _[No one.]_

 _She shrugs, trying to push away the hurt. There's no point in feeling it. It's not going to help her get through the day, so why bother?_

 _Who is she kidding? **All** she feels is hurt. But it's been years. She has learned to live with it to the best of her abilities._

 _[Alone.]_

 _"I am, but it's not so bad. Really, it could be much worse. I have everything I need, you know." She presses her hands together in her lap, "Thank you."_

 _ **She** __is put off by this._ _ **She** __sends_ _ **Her** __wordless confusion to the front of the child's mind. The girl curls inward, taken completely by surprise when her brain seems to swell inside her skull, too full of questions. It's then when she finally realizes why question marks are the shape they are._

 _[?]_

 _"You're not hurting anyone. Thank you."_

 _[Oh.]_

 _ **She** __can be reasonable, just not reasoned with. Not everything ends violently. It's terribly simple. Too simple. No complexities to trip_ _ **Her** __up and hold her back._ _ **She** __does what_ _ **She** __wants, and nothing's ever going to change that._

…

.

 **Present Time**

...

"Hey! Hey, Maura!" She feels hands on her shoulders gently shaking her awake, "It's time to wake up, Maura. Come on. Come on."

She opens her eyes a little, but the light from the streetlamp above forces her to clamp them shut. Her head is on fire, brain overworked‒ fried, even.

"Come on, doc, it's okay. You're safe. But you gotta get up now."

 _Frost?_

She squints ever so slightly, but sure enough, there he is. Barry Frost. He is smiling like he's having the time of his life just looking at her, but she knows how to look deeper. His eyes don't match his face but instead, hold sedate gloominess.

"Come on," he says, helping her off the park bench onto her feet. She stumbles a bit, legs shaky, head pounding loud in her ears. "Easy, doc."

The last thing she remembers is the sweltering heat of the van, hands bound, muffled voices... How did she get away? How did she get to this bench? How did Frost find her? She screws her eyes shut, fully trusting him to get her into his cruiser. She is missing so many pieces. "Where...? What...?"

Frost eases her into the passenger seat and circles around, wasting no time. "I don't know, Maura. I don't know. But I'm gonna find out."

...

She hears Jane before she sees her.

"No, I will _not_ calm down. She's _missing!_ "

"Hey, we've got our best out looking for her. They'll find her." It's Sleeper. The quietest, most reserved detective is trying to calm down Jane Rizzoli. If her head didn't feel so heavy, she might have laughed at that.

"She's out there somewhere, probably scared out of her mind! Did you watch those tapes everyone keeps whispering about? Did you?! She was taken, wasn't she?"

"You know I can't disclose that."

"Is there anything you _can_ tell me?"

Sleeper sighs, "You should go home and rest. You've been here all night. If we find anything, you'll be the first we call, alright?"

The doctor leans into Frost, dizzy. "Jane," she whispers.

"Yeah, she's been here since about nine. Been giving Sleeper a helluva time too," Frost says, offering her a reassuring smile. "C'mon, doc, something tells me she'll be pretty happy to see you."

"I can't just sit here! I should be out there looking for her!" Jane shouts from the other side of the glass door. She can feel the fire from her words, evident even from the doorway where she waits patiently for Jane to notice her. All sweatpants, flip-flops, and fury, she's never seen Jane so fiercely angry. And Sleeper's taking the worst of it all.

"Look," Sleeper says, rubbing his eyes, clearly exhausted with her, "I'll have an officer take you home‒"

"I'm not going back there! I won't... Not without her..." The last part comes out quiet. Broken. The doctor feels her heart give a little.

Frost moves them slowly, inching along because he knows if he lets her move on her own, she'll hurt herself getting to Jane. The doctor doesn't agree with this. They are moving so slow, at this rate they will never make it to Jane. There was a time in her life when she devoted all of her energy to the endless. To creating that never-ending tunnel between two mirrors. Interminable, or so she thought. But this?

 _This_ is infinity. It _has_ to be.

 _Infinity it the distance between you and me._

"Jane," she tries, but her voice is quiet in the air, amplified a thousand times in her head.

"Hey, Jane," Frost says, giving the doctor's arm a light squeeze. She wonders why on earth she was ever afraid of him. "I found someone."

Jane stiffens, stopping mid-sentence, words falling through dead air‒ much to Sleeper's relief. She turns slowly as if afraid she's being lied to. Afraid Frost is betraying the thin layer of trust between them.

But the way the fire dies in brown irises, instead burning its way into the determination of her steps might just be enough to erase this whole nightmare. Frost hands her off to Jane, sensing he's no longer needed at the moment.

"Thank you," Jane says, eyes meeting Frost's, understanding and sincerity exchanging between them invisible to anyone not looking hard enough.

Then her eyes are on the doctor.

"Hey, you."

It isn't the hands on her hips, or the lips pressed fervently to her forehead and cheeks, reassurances of _you're safe_ and _it's okay_ mumbled into her ears. It's the way she lets herself lean into Jane's chest, too dizzy and tired to think of anything else. It's the hand threading through her hair, stopping at the bump on the back of her head from the attack. It's the gasp and the worry that clouds Jane's eyes, pushing her back a few inches. It's the: "Maura... You're hurt!"

The doctor isn't quite sure why anyone would ever question Jane's ability to do the impossible.

She crushes infinity.

...

Frost accompanies them to the emergency room with the excuse of collecting her statement, but the doctor can see the worry in the eyes of her friend.

He keeps Jane distracted and the doctor awake with more stories about his girlfriend‒ a subject, the doctor decides, can be brought up freely the next time they are in an elevator again‒ like a buffer almost. Even if only for a little while, he blocks out the reality of tonight.

She fights resting her head on Jane's shoulder and giving into the sleep creeping through her body. If she could just stay conscious just a little longer, just until she sees a doctor that would be good enough.

"Oh, this one," he rubs his hands together. "I think this one's the best one."

"Really?" Jane asks, slightly sarcastic as if she's proving to him she can't turn it off.

Frost makes a clicking noise in the back of his throat, "What? You don't like my stories?"

"They're _okay_."

He leans back in his seat across from them and shakes his head, laughing quietly, "Alright, alright. But I think you'll like this one."

While Frost collects his thoughts, Jane leans over the armrest, "You feelin' okay?"

In all honesty, this feeling is all-too-familiar. Waking up in strange places with no memory of how she got there. Lost time. Injuries. Torn clothing. It reminds her a whole hell of a lot like her life before she met Jane and her daughters.

She rubs at the adhesive residue on her wrists, stopping when she feels Jane watching her.

"Hey," Jane says gently. "You're safe now."

"I... I know."

She doesn't want to be in the half-empty ER waiting room at god knows what hour in the night. Not here. Not giving her Frost her statement. Not in the back of a van, scorching her lungs with each new breath of air. She wants to go home and scoop Charly or maybe even Sophie into her arms and spend possibly the rest of her lucid time watching life happen in her home.

"Where are the girls?"

"They're," a pause, brief but agonizing. "They're with my mother."

 _Her mother? What was her name? Amanda? Alicia? Alice?_

She wracks her brain for the name but finds absolutely nothing. Just last week she knew, she is sure of it. But now it's gone forever. How long is it before she can't recognize co-workers, or Jane... or the girls?

"Hey, don't worry. They're fine, and you are too. We're going to find out what happened to you, Maura. I won't let anybody hurt you anymore."

She doesn't doubt it. Not in the least bit.

"Alright!" Frost says suddenly, startled them both and pulling their attention from each other. "When I was in college..."

He goes on, but the doctor can't hear any of it over the dull throbbing in her ears and the overall exhaustion threatening to pull her under. She feels Jane's fingers lace with her own, the contact just enough to quiet her mind.

Jane won't let anything happen to her.

...

The doctor suggests she take time off of work, and while she takes his advice, she is reluctant to take more than a week. Her best coping happens at work. Notes. Systems. Near perfection.

At home, she discovers a completely different kind of perfection.

Sophie finds a pair of scissors in the kitchen one afternoon and decides the curtains in their bedroom don't have enough holes in them.

Charly drops the doctor's phone into the toilet while trying to simultaneously save the world and brush her teeth, rendering both the child and the doctor phoneless.

One of them‒ neither one willing to admit it‒ pulls the entire roll of toilet paper into the tub during their bath.

It seems that every time she turns a corner and finds one of them reading a book, making mischief, or whispering quietly as they play, she falls more and more in love with them. Sophie remains closed-up and distant, but there are times when she loses herself in their games long enough to curl up in the doctor's arms and fall asleep there.

And Jane was right. Kids forgive.

Charly seems to have forgotten all about the other night. If anything, she wilder than she has ever been.

She loves them so much more than she ever thought she could.

...

She hasn't slept in her own bed the night she was taken.

She thinks that maybe Jane is more afraid of another abduction than the doctor herself, and she can see the reluctance each and every morning when Jane leaves for work. Perhaps a valid fear. She has been taken once. Who's to say it couldn't happen again? But she'd never voice any of this to Jane. She would never scare her like that.

Frost has promised the both of them that her case is being handled by the best of the best, but for some reason, it does nothing to soothe either one of them. Jane seems more agitated than ever lately, and for once it's not the doctor who needs to relax.

However, with no outlet at work, _She_ becomes present at home. Nothing drastic. If anything, _She_ is a quieter whisper than ever before. But the doctor isn't foolish enough to believe _She_ is fading. _She_ will always be there, whether lurking or lashing out, it doesn't matter. _She_ is always there. They are sealed, always.

But she cannot let that stop her. Not now that she's assembled a semblance of a family. Not now when she has people to care about with all her heart.

...

The sound of water running wakes her in the night.

She finds Jane in the bathroom running her hands under the faucet. For a moment, she leans against the door jamb, trying to read her body language. To assess the woman before pressing further. As much as she hates to admit it, she is still unsure where they stand.

Thankfully, Jane catches her eyes in the mirror and smiles before reaching for a hand towel. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"It's alright. What time is it?"

"About eleven. I went to my parents' house. Got a little caught up... I'm sorry, I would have called, but you'd need one of these first," Jane says, fishing a shiny cell phone out of her pocket.

"You fixed it?"

"Nah. I just got you a new one. Be warned, Charly's bound to destroy this one too." She hands the phone over, "It's got all your messages, and the man at the store said it should have your pictures and music and stuff."

"I... Thank you, Jane." Words. Okay words. But not good enough. She has always been quiet. The silent girl in the corner, never speaking out of turn. Except, of course, those rare times when passion seeps into her words. Passion for science, usually. She could go on and on about pericardial tamponade or studies on iron deficiency in children and young adults, and for that flickering moment, she is not afraid to speak.

Surely Jane deserves that passion.

"How was it today? They weren't too much trouble, were they? Because you can always call Jenny if you need to."

She tugs on Jane's arm, wanting her to come to bed. "We had a good day. They were... they were wonderful, Jane."

"What did you end up doing?"

"We went to the children's museum, then they wanted to go out for ice cream."

"And let me guess, you tricked them into getting your weird vegan soy frozen yogurt crap," Jane teases.

"I didn't _trick_ them."

"Okay, if you say so, _Doctor_." Jane's voice is gravelly in her ear. That kind of low, teasing murmur that never fails to push a shudder through her body. Coupled with the hands gliding over her hips and the lips pressing gently at the base of her jaw, well, the doctor is certain there is such thing as overstimulation.

"I missed you."

...

It's their alarm that wakes her the next morning. Jane reaches over lazily and hits the snooze button, promptly returning her arm to its place draped over the doctor's stomach. She used to be afraid to move in Jane's arms. Afraid that if she shifted even the least bit, Jane would withdraw completely. But no matter how much she moves in the night, she always wakes in the hollow of Jane's body, caged in safely with long arms and legs.

Jane is afraid. Maybe she will never admit it, but the doctor knows it, sees it. Maybe Jane is not aware of this fear directly and her protective actions at night stem off her subconscious.

"Morning," Jane whispers, voice heavy with sleep. Through her t-shirt, the doctor feels Jane's thumb tracing oblong circles on her stomach. She can't help but close her eyes and forget about the dread that comes with Jane getting up and leaving for work.

"Good morning."

"I did some looking," she mumbles into the doctor's neck, "and I found a school close by. I was going to go check it out later today with the girls... It'd mean a lot to me if you came with us."

She looks up her then, heart swelling too big for her chest, and wondering how she managed to stumble into this wonderful life.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

...

Jane gets up, insisting the doctor stay in bed until she wakes the girls for breakfast. But once she's awake, she's not the kind of person who can fall easily back into sleep. Instead, she becomes anxious and in need of something to do with her hands.

Her mind snaps to her phone. Her messages.

She unplugs the new phone from the nightstand and searches the strange formatting until she finds she has three missed calls. One from Jane the day Charly nearly flushed the phone and two from Detective Frost. One of which from just yesterday.

She sits up and presses the phone to her ear, ready to hear Frost go on about how they still haven't found her captor, but how they are still on it anyway. Instead, the phone nearly slips from her hand. She threads her fingers in her hair, fighting the nausea that has suddenly overtaken her.

" _Hey, doc, it's Frost. I don't want you to worry or anything, but have you see Crowe? I haven't seen since the blackout.. thought he just took a few days off like he does sometimes, you know? But he's not answering his phone, and I'm a little worried. I'm sure it's nothing, but the last time someone went missing around here they wound up dead... uhm... That didn't come out right... Have you seen him? Call me back."_

She leans forward, head hovering over knees as pieces of conversations lost in the muck come back to her.

 _"They work together."_

" _He's going to tell her who I am."_

" _She's a wanted fugitive."_

The elevator. Crowe was going to tell her something. Her stomach drops as the phone call crackles in her memory. Not a prank, but a _warning._

Now he's missing.

She thinks back to the night with the murder in the shipyard. The conversation she overheard in her kitchen:

" _I've held up my end."_

Then just last week after the softball game:

" _He knows who I am."_

" _I want you to fix this._ ** _I don't care how_** _."_

That pinging in the back of her head since that first night she heard Jane one the phone... the overall sense that all was not well. That Jane is not who she says she is, simply because she has not said she is anyone at all.

The doctor knows absolutely nothing about this woman, and yet...

[Danger.]

 _You... you knew?_

[Yes.]

 _But how could you have possibly known that?_

[Know. Hurt.]

 _No! She would never hurt me. There has to be an explanation._

[No you. Others.]

"I need the truth," she whispers, gaining strength in her words. There is obviously an explanation to all of this. She is probably just making something out of nothing. Paranoia. Delusions. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she lost touch with reality.

...

She finds Jane in the kitchen making scrambled eggs and humming a tune the doctor cannot quite place at the moment. Unable to decide where to begin, she just waits until Jane notices here standing there. It doesn't take long, maybe a few seconds.

"Hey, you. I was gonna come get you when I finished."

"Jane."

"Hang on a sec... You mind getting the girls? That way I can have it out on the table in time."

" _Jane_." Firm. For the first time in years, the doctor is unwavering.

She lowers a plate onto the island and stops, sensing something different in the air. "Yeah? Is everything okay?"

The doctor takes one last deep breath to combat the nerves combusting inside of her. It takes every ounce of paper-thin courage and bravery inside of her to speak the only three words she knows that have never had the chance to hold any real meaning until now:

"Who are you?"


	15. Ignoti

" _Who are you?"_

It isn't a layered inquiry requiring extensive research or a riddle with no answer. It isn't rhetorical. It's just a simple question: _Who are you? Because I know who you're not._

All the same, the confusion on Jane's face becomes whisked away as she laughs off the question. She has taken her deflection route, but unfortunately for her, she has only solidified the doctor's suspicions.

"What're you talking about, Maur?"

…

.

 **Sixteen Years Ago**

...

 _One Sunday, the child is taken aback when a maid hands her the telephone with the message it's her mother._

 _"Mother?" It's the first time she has called since the New Year. It's the middle of May._

 _"Hello, darling. Are you well?"_

 _She feels behind her for something to sit down on, settling on an antique chair that was purchased solely for looks. It groans under her weight, but she pays it no mind. "Yes! Yes. Mother, I'm wonderful, how are you and Daddy?"_

 _"I'm... I'm busy as always... but your father, he hasn't contacted you?"_

 _"No, I... I haven't heard from him in months."_

 _"Oh, I knew this would happen!" All of the sudden, her mother sounds livid. She fears she has said something wrong._

 _"Wh-what?"_

 _A deep sigh on the other end of the line clamps down on her heart. "Your father is in Boston, Maura. I told him to visit with you, or at the very least call you. But he's gone and done it again... I'm so sorry, darling."_

 _The tears building behind her eyes fight her for escape, but she promises herself she won't let them fall. "It's okay, Mother. I'm sure he's just busy." Her composure scares her._

 _"Yes, that's it. I'm sure he's just caught up." Muffled noises and voices come from the other end of the line, and the child knows their conversation is over. She hangs up the phone without another word, knowing she is only missing her mother's rushed goodbye._

 _It's somehow more pathetic than wishful thinking to believe her father was going to call her at all. Even on New Year's Eve he sounded disinterested and forced on the phone. It's an easy conclusion to draw in theory, but the reality of it all is much harder to swallow._

 _"Daddy doesn't love me."_

 _[No.]_

 _Of course not! Why would he? She's not a child, she's a_ _ **thing**_ _, right? Evil! A monster! Not a little girl suffering from something unknown to the world. Not a child who knows the bitter taste of loneliness. Not a child that deserves love, surely._

 ** _IT'S NOT MY FAULT!_**

 _She wants to scream it from the mountaintops._

 ** _I AM NOT A MONSTER!_**

 _ **I'M JUST... nothing. Never mind. I'm nothing.**_

 _She calls her father. It's spontaneous and unplanned. She has no idea what her words will be and trusts too hard in herself to know when he answers. If he answers‒ that is._

 _"Dr. Isles," he answers. Cold. Clinical. Not a medical doctor, but one of philosophy. At her age, the child understands little of his world. What he does. Why he doesn't love her._

 _"Daddy?" Shaky. Nearly breathless._

 _Her mother has visited a number of times‒ enough to push away childish names like Mommy or Momma right out of her vocabulary. Unfortunately, she hasn't seen her father enough to do the same._

 _A pause, a reluctant sigh, and what she imagines is a hand running down his face, pulling the skin of cheeks down. "Hello, Maura."_

 _"Mother... she told me you were in Boston."_

 _"I am."_

 ** _So it's true._**

 _"And... And you didn't want to see me?"_

 _She's crying now. A promise to herself broken. No... she doesn't even have it that bad. She forces herself to think of the children without three-story mansions and a staff to wait on their every need. She thinks of the orphans or the children with parents who beat them into the ground just for existing. She. Has. A. Wonderful. Life._

 _All the books she can read in six lifetimes‒ excluding holidays, she has calculated. Grounds to wander at will. People to cook and clean for her. By the very definition of the word, she is privileged. Privilege has. Privilege is. Privilege has torn her heart out._

 _She would give it all, every last bit of it, just to have her father visit her and look at her like she is the daughter she has always wanted to be._

 _Dead silence on the other end of the line lets her know she has struck something within her father. Certainly not a nerve. No, she's not worth nerves, right?_

 _"Daddy?"_

 _Grim. And then he laughs. He **laughs**. Not a sincere laugh. A placeholder. A stalling tactic. Just enough to buy him the time to find the words to end her. _

_"No... Maura, I don't... Be good. Goodbye."_

 _And she is good. Because it's his only wish, and there is a tiny part of her that still believes that if she follows his words, he will come back. He will bring her mother and they can go on walks through the part and talk about presidential candidates and share umbrellas. They can sit together at dinner and take family trips for the holidays. They can love her._

 _What do you call a place so surreal not even a fool could believe in it?_

..

.

 **Present Time**

...

" _What're you talking about, Maur?"_

Bravery. There is no time for cowardice. A lie has leaked into the air, and she'll sponge it out to her dying breath because the one person she let herself trust is not who she hasn't said she is.

"Who were you before you came here?"

"I don't know what you want me to say, Maur." Eyes flicker to the left. _Liar_. "I was Jane. Now I'm still Jane... Are you okay?"

She presses her palms flat against the island, hazel eyes utilizing her fire for a whole new purpose, "Jane."

"Look, Maur... I..." she looks unsure of her words. "I was in Chicago." Dark brown eyes plead her to drop it, but. she. can't.

"So at the softball game when Crowe recognized you... You were a police officer?"

Jane closes her eyes and gives a small nod. Her normally loose, lanky body has gone completely rigid. Defensive. It's almost too much to bear. "I was a Detective. I'm not anymore... Please, can we just leave it at that?"

"Why...?" It comes out so strangled, the doctor is quite surprised the word didn't choke to death in her throat.

"I can't tell you, Maura. I can't... I won't ever hurt you. I won't."

"How do I know I can believe you?"

"I... I don't know how to prove it to you." Jane drops her head and stares at the floor as if it's the bearer of her script of lies to tell. "I would never hurt you."

She threads her fingers in blond tresses, turning away from her. "I let you into my life... I _trusted_ you," she laughs. Humorless. Cold. Hands held out in front of her, dropped to her sides, robbed of life. "I don't know anything about you, and I just let myself fall in love... with you. With your girls."

 _It's not real._

The pain in Jane's eyes is staggering, "Maura, I _‒_ "

"No. I don't know who you are, or what you want..." she loses her words. Good thing too because she has absolutely no idea where she was going with it.

"Please, Maur..." she reaches one hand out to her, but the doctor takes a step away. "It's safer that you don't know..."

She thinks of the girls still asleep in their bed and the sun shining high in the summer sky. Of the preschool they were going to visit later today _as a family_. Of Jane's hands on her skin and her lips on her neck. She thinks of that little girl whose father left her crying in the parlor with a sense of emptiness, a hole in her heart freshly filled with the Rizzolis. Now she feels torn apart all over again.

 _No, he wasn't my father._

 _My father... the murderer. Ice pick. Ice pick. Icepi c k._

She looks up at Jane, then down at her hands. The timing... The timing is impeccable. Just as _She_ started to flare up again all those months ago, Jane seemed to drop right into her life.

 _I don't understand._

She wants comfort. She wants Jane to be the one to give it to her. That safety and warmth cannot possibly be duplicated. But deep in her stomach she feels betrayed. Lied to. Used, maybe.

"I would never let anything hurt you, Maura. You need to believe that."

The silence that follows rocks her to her core. But not like the core of the earth, molten and protected. No, like the core of an apple _‒_ devoured to the center. Vulnerable to the outside world. Fruitless. Rotten. Rotted. Like something _She_ would force the doctor to eat straight out of the trash.

"Why are you here?" _Do you know what I've done?_

"I _‒_ "

"You can't tell me, right?"

"Maura, I want to tell you!"

"But you can't, because what? Is... Is there someone holding a gun to your head?" She doesn't recognize the words as they leave her mouth. She doesn't recognize herself at all. It makes her sick to her stomach.

 _You're not you._

 _I'm not me._

 _Who are we?_

Jane shakes her head and turns back to turn the stove off, "You have no idea."

"What?"

"I need to take you somewhere." Sudden. Sharp. Smooth. Cold. Not a knife but a double-edged sword pressed to her throat. But that's the wrong image altogether. Despite everything, she believes that Jane would never hurt her.

"What? No, I.. I..." All your life, you hear the phrase _things are not as they seem_. Well, maybe it's time the doctor started believing it. "Where?"

When she doesn't get an answer, she goes searching for one. She follows Jane into the girls' room, obeying her silent request to help her wake them.

"Hey," soft and motherly. "Doctor and I are going to take you two to grandma's house today."

Jane digs through their dresser, movements short and quick, but the girls aren't cooperating. Sophie hasn't even stirred.

They were supposed to have breakfast together. All around the table, room filled with laughter and happy noises. It was supposed to be easy, but now everything is different. Difficult. Twisted... convoluted. She feels a pain deep in her chest, the kind that doesn't pass after a few seconds, but roots into tissue and muscle with a mind of its own.

She takes Charly up in her arms easily waits for Jane to get Sophie to cooperate. All nerves and singed fervor, she finds release for her pent-up energy in the repetition of the pats she leaves on the child's back.

"Doctor," Charly mumbles.

"Shh, baby, it's alright." She feels her lie to the girl prick her skin and steal her breath. But it's worth it. Anything to keep these girls sheltered. "We're going to take you to your grandmother's house."

"Where're you goin'?"

"I'm..." she swallowed, unease washing over her again, filling her lungs like dirty water. "I'm going somewhere with your mother."

"I don't wanna go with Grandma," Charly pouts, a little cranky from just waking up.

"It's just for a few hours, okay?" _Then your mother will come get you. I don't know where I'll be at that point, but..._

She doesn't even want to think of goodbyes. This little family has given her the world. The fact that all of that could crumble by the end of the day churns the doctor's stomach.

"I love you, Charly." She'll say it now, and hopefully, a dozen more times before they make it to Jane's mother's house.

"Mm-love you, too, Doctor." If only the child knew just how much those little words fill her heart.

The doctor and love are strangers. For thirty years they have danced around each other, touching just briefly, accidental even. Foreign. Alien. Both fluidly transient and of the moment, never to collide longer than a few moments.

The Rizzolis felt different.

They felt permanent.

 _But it's wrong. wrong. wrong. I don't want to let go._

…

.

 **Eleven Years Ago**

...

 _At nineteen, she is absolutely beautiful, but her lack of interest in social interaction ruffles her mother's feathers._

 _"You're in college, you're young. You should be out there making friends during your spring break, not wasting your time in this old house!"_

 _Of course, she's heard this speech a million and one times. Maura Isles is friendly and friendless. The other students find her boring and awkward, and the times they do speak to her, it is because they are too busy to write their own research papers._

 _She doesn't mind so much. Really, it's nothing._

 _But her mother cannot understand why she won't put herself out there. So she skips a few baby steps and sets her up on a date with the son of a benefactor. A family of billionaires. Old money. Roots that run deep into Boston's rich history. A staggering intimidation factor, even for a girl that knows nothing but the smooth, cool kiss of wealth._

 _She doesn't want to go, in fear of... well, everything. However, her mother has other plans._

 _Her mother takes no shortcuts, spares nothing in preparing her daughter for her date with Garrett Fairfield. Hair. Nails. Dress. Shoes. But at the end of it all, the only thing the girl can think of is just how many books she could have bought with the money her mother has invested into tonight._

 _She doesn't recognize herself in the mirror._

 _..._

 _All nerves, she waits up in her bedroom for her mother to call her downstairs. She hears a car pull up, and five minutes later she hears her mother calling her name from the bottom the stairs._

 _Everything is so rehearsed. Constance made her practice her descent down the stairs nearly a dozen times just so she would get it right. Just so Garrett might like her. The conversational topics she's been practicing all day swim around in her head, already fusing together. Muddled and jittery._

 _And there he is._

 _He is tall and handsome and athletically muscled‒ but she knew he would be. All week her mother has gone on and on about 'that Fairfield boy.'_

 _"Ah, there you are, darling. This is Garrett," her mother introduces, elegant and as excited as an Isles can ever show the world._

 _She smooths down the front of her ridiculous pink dress‒ she'd never select pink on her own. It's too flashy. The last thing she wants is to attract attention to herself. All the same, the color seems to be working just as her mother planned. She can feel his eyes. Direct and almost pointed._

 _"Hello, Maura. You... you look great."_

 ** _What?_**

 _She steals a glance at him, confused to find him studying his own shoes. Could it be? Is he nervous too?_

 _"Th-thank you."_

 _"Oh, aren't you two lovely? Illeana, come in here!" Constance calls out to her assistant‒ the woman that gets to spend more time with Constance than her own daughter. "Bring the camera."_

 _And so they stand, side-by-side, Garrett's arm lightly draped around her shoulder. They are sealed in time on a roll of film._

 _..._

 _So they go out to a restaurant‒ the kind her mother is always trying to take her to during their visits. She fears it will be everything she has pictured during the last twenty-four hours. He will find her not worth his attention, she will spill her drink all over herself... Or at the very least, they will have nothing to talk about._

 _She has never been so wrong in her life._

 _Garrett is amazing. He breaks through her shell naturally and shows genuine interest in her. He gets her to talk without awkward pause, without stumbled words and stuttering. He listens as she speaks. They laugh. It's easy._

 _They connect like nothing she has ever known._

 _After the first date, they see each other every night until the end of spring break and quite frequently once they return to BCU. She falls so effortlessly in love with him, and she is not the only one. The red girl can't get enough of him either. In fact,_ _ **She** __likes him so much,_ _ **Her** __words somehow make it out of the lovestruck student's mouth._

 _The line between the actions of Maura Isles and the actions of the red girl begin to blur. They take turns with him. Some days, Garrett will spend leisurely lunches with Maura. They share their favorite books and get into light arguments about politics and science, stars and music. They steal kisses on park benches and have picnics by moonlight..._

 _And some days Garrett spends with the red girl._ _ **She** __is a tempest that rises slowly from the sea and knows exactly what_ _ **She** __wants._ _ **She** __is liquid passion mixed with lust in equal proportions. Days spent with her in control take them into Garrett's dorm room‒ necktie on the doorknob, nothing but each other... and boosted levels of immunoglobulin A._

 _If Garrett notices his girlfriend is actually two totally different people, he doesn't let her know. Either that or he doesn't mind it at all. Together she and the red girl achieve sheer perfection._

 _And for a year, it really is perfect._

…

 _._

 **Present Time**

...

The doctor shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the memory. It seemed to come out of nowhere. She had forgotten all about Garrett Fairfield. Just a decade ago, he was the center of her life _‒_ her first love. A man who meant so much to her then now occupies only a shred of a memory in her mind today.

She doesn't want to think about him. Not while she's sitting in the passenger seat of her car as Jane drives them to an unmentionable location. She can't even make herself look at her.

"Maura?"

She says nothing.

"Okay... Just listen to me, alright. I've never lied to you. Not once."

She finally faces Jane, but she might as well be talking to a stranger, "You lied to me, Jane. In the beginning."

"I _‒_ "

"You remember, don't you? The first time we had breakfast. I asked you, 'Why me?' and do you remember what you said?"

Jane swallows and nods, keeping her eyes on the road, "'I think it's your eyes.'"

"But it wasn't, was it?"

"Please don't do that..."

"Do what?"

"Never mind," Jane says, then clenches her jaw like it never mattered anyway.

She turns her gaze back out the window, heart already too damaged to press her for a proper answer. "I just want the truth," she whispers.

…

 _._

 **Ten Years Ago**

...

 _It all happens rather quickly. One minute she is sitting in her dorm room, studying for a midterm, the red girl screaming at her to shut the books and go find Garrett, the next, well..._

 _The next she is fleeing a fraternity house, weaving through inebriated bodies, trying to come up with a rational reason why she just walked in on her boyfriend and another girl._

 _But there isn't one._

 _[No. No. No. Garrett.]_

 _She feels it._ _ **Her** __distress._ _ **Her** __denial. Angry. Hot. Broken._

 _[No. He... NO.]_

 _She makes it out to the street, tear-streaked, the ache in her heart raw. Fresh. She wasn't enough. After a year of what she thought to be amazing adventures and brilliant memories, she wasn't enough for him. **They**_ _weren't enough for him._

 _They were_ _ **perfect** ,_ _and even that wasn't enough?!_

 _The numbness she knows so well starts to creep into her limbs, starting in her fingertips and toes._

 _"No... Please don't hurt him... H-he made a mistake."_

 _[No.]_

 ** _Please…_**

…

.

 **Present Time**

...

From there, the doctor cannot recall much more. After a couple days, Garrett's younger brother, Sumner, came to visit the dorms, but no one had seen Garrett since the night of the party. A missing person's report was filed, and she is sure there was an extensive investigation because of his family. She was questioned just as all his friends were, but it wasn't her, of course. It was _Her_.

She is certain he's dead.

Technically, the police never found his body, but it's been more than seven years. On all accounts, Garrett Fairfield is dead.

Looking around outside, she recognizes South Boston cast in drear. Heavy grey clouds encrust the beautiful blue they had woken up to. The weather seems to match perfectly with the unease swirling within the doctor. And the rain that falls soon after seems only to punctuate the feeling.

They don't speak. Not for a lack of words _‒_ the doctor has plenty, but she has spent all her life saving her words, and now doesn't really seem like the best time to cash them in.

 _Where are you taking me, Jane?_

A million and one layers of feelings have bound around her, but she only feels a sense of dullness. Maybe in an hour or two, reality will catch up with her, but right now she still believes she is imagining all of this. They are not really here. They are back in bed, warm against each other, pretending the day hasn't started yet.

She glances over at Jane, unable to help herself. She can't let this end. If Garrett could have given her the world, Jane could have given her the universe. If she would have just told the truth. Or better yet, if there were nothing to lie about.

"Jane... please, I just want the truth... from you." _I think I deserve the truth... but so do you, and I **can't**._

Jane pulls to a stop at a red light, deep in thought. The doctor fears she didn't hear her request. Then suddenly, Jane takes a sharp right, earning a symphony of irritated car horns. The doctor's hands shoot out to steady herself against the dash as Jane straightens out the vehicle. They come to a stop behind some vacant building, idling carelessly in the center of the lot.

"I didn't lie to you."

 _A technicality. A lie of omission is still a lie._

She hates the way her bottom lip starts to quiver against her will, and that her hands want to reach out to Jane, despite what has happened.

"Do you remember the Surgeon?" Jane asks so suddenly, the doctor is caught off-guard.

"The..?"

"About three years ago there was a serial killer in Chicago dubbed the Surgeon." Her jaw clenches in sync with her fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "Do you remember?"

 _The Surgeon...?_

She doesn't remember. Then again, it's nearly impossible for her to remember much of anything these days.

"I don't know."

"Sick guy. I mean really sick, Maur. He'd... He'd go after couples. He'd stalk them for weeks and plan out his attack. He.. he would tie up the men and make them watch as he raped the women and kill them both after _‒_ sometimes together, sometimes miles apart... But the women... that's where his name came from the Surgeon," she says the name with disgust like he is still among man.

 _The Surgeon... I... I remember._

It's vague, but she remembers reading an electronic article about a serial killer much like the one Jane is describing.

"He...uh," she swallows and takes in a breath. "He would tie them to the bed and tape their mouths shut... and just cut into them while they were still alive."

 _Okay... I don't understand._

She opens her mouth to ask, but Jane's words are unstoppable. Like she is telling them the best way she can.

"It was my case... _My_ case, Maura. I was a rookie even then, new to homicide. I had all kinds of beginner's luck, but it never really ended. I solved case after case like it was nothing. I was so proud. I thought I could take on anything. But then this guy surfaces for the first time since the 90s..." She clears her throat, and keeps her voice low, "And no matter what I did, he was always one step ahead. I relied on my team for the first time since my transfer, but it didn't matter. We'd put together all the pieces, but show up just minutes after he'd gone, left with a crime scene."

 _Why are you telling me this?_

"He just kept killing, Maura," she leans forward and presses her forehead to the backs of her hands, still gripping the steering wheel. "There was nothing we could do. He was a ghost. We were always too late. Every single damn time. And he was laughing at us, he left clues and riddles, but we could never decode them in time. He was smarter. Smarter than all of us. We were desperate... _I_ was desperate."

She has never heard Jane speak so much before. If only she could piece everything together, then maybe she could have some kind of idea where all of this is going.

"Back when I was in the drug unit, I went on a deep cover assignment for a few months. I heard things all around about a man who could deal with problems. A man who knew his way around Chicago's underbelly... We were out of options, Maura. There was nothing more we could do. The Surgeon was unstoppable."

Jane sits up again and runs a hand through her hair, looking less like herself by the second. The doctor sees only fear etched into Jane's features. Something she swears was not there this morning.

"So I went looking for this man. Hoping he was just talk... Hoping he was real... And I found him... I told him my problem and that I didn't care the cost or consequences, I just didn't want anyone else to die at the hand of that monster..." She wrings her hands out in front of her, fidgeting now. "He said he'd take care of it and all I'd owe his was a favor. Just like that."

 _Oh..._

The doctor can't remember the last time she felt so lost for words.

"The killings stopped by the end of the month, but no one believed he would just stop like that. They stayed on their toes for months... but I knew the truth. I waited for the man to come collect his favor, but he never did... And then one day two years later, there's a gun in my mailbox… I knew the second I touched it it was gonna be the end. Turns out, somebody used it to kill two cops, and _my_ prints were on it."

Outside, cars pass on the street, filled with people going about their day like any other, oblivious to the world of serial killers and red-haired murderesses. The demons fill her car completely.

"And then the next day, he came to my house. He just stood in the doorway… and I knew I had made a huge mistake, that I was in over my head. I thought he was going to frame me for something one of his thugs did... but that wasn't it. He told me that from that moment on, I worked for him, and he had a job for me. It sounded simple enough, so I accepted _‒_ not like I had a choice. The cops were already looking for me, for that goddamn gun. It was only a matter of time. He told me I had to disappear." She closes her eyes and leans back against the headrest. "It was a couple months before I met you. I moved my girls in with my ma and told her not to believe anything they were gonna say about me, that is was going to be bad. Then I left them. I _left_ my girls, and I spent months learning how to make myself as invisible as he was. And then I found you."

"Found me?"

She nods, but doesn't elaborate. "I took the easy way out, Maur. I had a man killed because I couldn't do it myself. I'm no better than any of the criminals I put away."

"No," she hears herself say, words tingling in unfamiliarity, "you're not. You stopped a man from taking any more lives."

"Yeah, but getting another murderer to kill him... We would have caught him eventually, maybe called in some help from the damn FBI if it came to it, I dunno. But we could have caught him the right way and I wouldn't be indebted to... to a man who's so much _worse_. I took the easy way, Maura. I just couldn't stand being outsmarted. He wounded my pride, and I had him killed for it."

" _...killed for_ _it_ _."_

Killed for the fact he wounded her pride, not because he was murdering left and right?

"I'm not good, Maur... but I would never dream of hurting you."

She wipes at her damp cheeks, confused at the tears. Her body is crying, but she isn't. She feels fuzzy or numb or maybe she's burning so hot, she feels nothing. "What was it? Your job. What did he want you to do?" she asks, fearing she already knows the answer.

"I gotta take you somewhere," Jane says like that is her answer. She pulls out of the lot, and before long, they're speeding along to some kind of top-secret location Jane really isn't willing to share.

"What was your job, Jane?" Firm but hollow. Two words that describe her quite eloquently in this moment.

"My job _‒_ " A statement, not a question.

"What?"

" _‒_ is to protect you."


	16. Danger

Jane's admission only churns the thrashing waters within the doctor.

" _My job…"_

Job. _I'm a job._

 _She_ is unsettled, agitated, and restless. _Her_ unease causes the doctor's hands to fidget in her lap. _She_ pushes memories of Garrett Fairfield to the front of the doctor's mind, but her decade-old heartache adds nothing to her silent anguish. He is such a trivial thing to worry about at a time like this.

 _You killed him... You live with it. Why are you thinking about him now?_

There's no answer, but it's to be expected at this point. The voice is never really all that cooperative.

"Maura?"

They're still driving, winding slowly through the streets as if to create an unmemorable path. She hears Jane say her name, but she can't find it in herself to respond. The silence drags on, too thick and swirling between them like cyclones.

"Maura, please. Say something."

"I don't know what you want me to say." Devoid of emotion. Monotone. So unlike herself.

"What're you thinking about?" Jane tries, voice careful as if she knows to tread carefully.

[No.]

 _I'm not going to tell her about Garrett. He's yours forever... But Jane..._

It is equal parts thrilling and terrifying to think that she might just love Jane as much as the red girl loved Garrett. It seems impossible. She could never measure up to that kind of passion. But here she is, twisted up just like she was ten years ago.

 _But I'm just a job._

"Talk to me, Maura." She is pleading now. Brown eyes as warm as ever, but full of fear and shame. "Okay, look... I know everything I've told you seems ridiculous, but it's the truth."

"That's not _‒_ " _what I'm worried about._

Jane pulls the car to into a spot on the curb and kills the engine. A glance out the window lets the doctor know they are at South Station. The only question is why.

"Are we going somewhere?"

"Just inside."

She nods, accepting the vagueness of it all.

"I'm trying to keep you safe."

 _From what?!_

 _Is there someone out to get me?! Someone who knows the truth? Good. Kill the red girl while you have the chance._

She shoots a warning shock through the doctor's nerves, effectively silencing her thoughts. No matter the circumstance, the doctor only thrives because _She_ lets her.

"Safe," she whispers. A word that has enough meanings to make her hesitate. Jane smiles at her, tricked by the doctor's reply. They are nowhere near on the same page. "Because that's your job, right? Keep me safe?"

"Um, yeah, I guess it _‒_ "

"Come into my life like it's an accident and tell me I'm brave and beautiful to get me to like you? Because you're keeping me safe?" The storm rages in both forms of rain pelting the outside world and waves of anguish rocking the doctor.

"Maur, no it's not _‒_ "

"Introduce me to your children and let me invite you into my home? Hold me in the night like you're afraid someone's going to take me? Let me fall in love with the idea that maybe I could have a family again? But it's not real. None of it's real because it's all _part of your job_."

The fact that her eyes are completely dry frightens her. But she wouldn't dare let herself believe this lack of emotion is composure. Outside she is strong, but on the inside she's fracturing.

"No, Maura, please. Listen to me! It's not like that. I... I didn't know what to expect. He gave me a picture of you and some addresses, but I didn't know what to think. I read through everything, thinking you'd be some kind of socialite that'd want nothing to do with me. And I was fine with it. You were just a job."

Jane's words sting worse than anything the red girl could ever possibly inflict. Her heart pounds in her chest, adrenaline and ache.

"But then I saw you in that grocery store, scared out of your mind because some little old lady was trying to talk to you. And then you looked at me with those terrified eyes... and I knew then that I had to go through with it. You looked so innocent and scared, I wanted to protect you from... from everything," she laughs quietly, nervous and unsure of her words.

Jane reaches out to her, and like always, she flinches a little at first, but soon settles into the feeling of her hand against her cheek. The doctor finally looks at her, the warmth in those brown eyes floods into her, sealing the cracks and tears of her tattered heart.

"And the girls weren't part of my plan to win you over. Because there wasn't a plan. The more time I spent with you, the more I wanted to tell you everything. You weren't just a frightened woman in a grocery store to me anymore... It all felt real because it was."

She reaches up and covers Jane's hand with one of her own, trying her best to let Jane speak. The storm swirls and crashes inside of her, erratic and untamed. Conflict and true words. It's all so very twisted.

"I couldn't tell you anything about me, but I... I wanted to share a part of myself with you, so I introduced you to my girls. And it first, it was just about showing you my family _‒_ my two girls I love more than anything in the world... but then I saw you with them. I saw the way Charly would always go to you, super happy about something that made no sense to you, but you'd just go with it for her benefit. I heard the love in your voice when you gave her that nickname. And Sophie... you tried so hard, but she just wouldn't take to you. But you still covered her up at night when Charly stole her blankets... She's warming up to you. I can see it."

Jane withdraws her hand, laughing nervously again. She's done so much talking in this car _‒_ so much more than ever before. Whether on the phone or curled up on the couch together, Jane conserves her words. Now they're all tumbling out. "I guess I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"I'm sorry," the doctor says quietly, though the silence of the car amplifies her words.

"I should be the one apologizing."

"No... I doubted you. I knew you would never hurt me. I should have let you explain."

Jane shakes her head, "No, you had every right. I should have told you from the beginning. I'm sorry. I messed up."

And then she can't take it anymore. She unbuckles her seatbelt, barely letting it retract before throwing her arms around Jane. The center console jabs almost painfully into her abdomen, but she couldn't care less. Her thoughts instead cling to how amazing it feels to bury her head in the crook of Jane's neck and how completely and utterly safe she feels in their embrace.

She is not quite sure how long they stay like that, but it's long enough to make her hyper aware of the center console digging into her stomach, separating them. The car is so compact, she fears they will never be close enough. She's so worried about the size _‒_ or lack thereof _‒_ of her Prius she doesn't recognize Jane's words until seconds after she's said them.

"What?" a whisper as delicate as butterfly wings.

Jane smiles, a low chuckle making way through her body. She repeats herself, and the doctor is entranced. The words that leave Jane's mouth anchor into her skin beautifully. She wants to turn back the clock with all the knowledge she has now and wake up in Jane's strong arms knowing one concrete, absolute truth: Jane Rizzoli loves her.

...

The train station is crowded.

It's a Thursday morning, dreary and rain-laden, but despite the derailing of their own lives, everyone else is living the same day they did yesterday.

Crowds make her no less nervous than they did months ago, but she tries her best not to squeeze Jane's arm too tightly, or steal away to the nearest restroom haven. She focuses on the job at hand.

 _Stay with Jane._

 _Stay with Jane._

People. People everywhere. Walking, talking on their phones, yelling at their kids to stay close. It's loud, crowded, busy, and far too much for the quiet doctor. Her eyes dart around the room, locking accidentally with a man walking past. She shrinks into herself, relieved when Jane loops an arm around her waist to hold her close, safe from the hidden horrors of a building full of people.

Jane leads the way to a mostly abandoned waiting area near two vending machines and a drinking fountain that looks about ready to be retired. They settle onto a bench adjacent to a woman pecking away at the screen of her smartphone, half-heartedly calling her son to come back from the vending machines. Jane takes out her own phone and types out a quick message before pocketing it again and offering the doctor a comforting smile.

"Alright?"

She nods but looks straight ahead, feeling _Her_ tic as a little boy with the flaming red hair mashes all the buttons on the vending machine. The red girl itches and twitches within the doctor as the boy aims a kick at the machine.

"Tyler, come on. It's broken," the woman calls, never once looking up from her phone.

"C'mon!" the boy exclaims, punching the front of the machine. "It ate my money!"

"We can get something on the train."

"I don't wanna wait! I'm hungry."

The doctor shifts in her seat, skin prickly. Why won't he leave the machine alone? He aims another kick at it, and she flinches. They both do. He keeps on hitting the machine, each dull thud drilling deeper into her skull.

[Stop.]

"Maura? Are you okay?"

"The boy," she whispers, skin twitching. She fights the growing urge to drag her fingernails across her skin and scratch until the world stops.

Jane looks up and scans the area, "What boy?"

"At the snack machine." _Thud. **Thud**. Thud_. She feels itchy all over. The back of her neck. Her ribs. The inside of her skull. _Thud. Thud. **Thud**_.

[Stop. No. No.]

"Maur... there's no one there..." Jane says, squeezing her knee gently. "It's okay."

It's anything but.

The boy turns his head slowly, malicious smile and black eyes locking onto her. Her stomach turns violently, forcing her body to wretch forward. She _recognizes_ him. The boy from the McDonald's. The boy that doesn't exist at all.

His gaze hooks into her eye sockets and drags her face first to the edge of her seat. "Danger," he whispers, landing another kick at the snack machine. "Danger. Danger."

The sound of the woman's keyboard clicks only adds to the madness. **_Thud_** _. Click-click._ ** _Thud_** _. Click-click._ ** _Thud_** _. Click-click_.

 _She_ is going mad in the doctor's head, flailing and twitching, screaming and clawing. She strains her bounds as if trying to escape a skin prison.

[Danger. Away.]

Her skin prickles and she can't take it anymore. She gives into the scratching, incessantly and ferocious. Anything to soothe the discomfort raging all around and inside herself. She rakes her fingernails across her shoulders and up her neck, disappearing into her hair. Her hands move like lightning, digging into her scalp but giving absolutely no relief to the irritation.

She jerks around in her seat, frightened by her own actions.

 _What's happening to me?_

 _Is something close?_

[Away!]

"Maur," Jane's voice stays low. Calm. "Just breathe. Everything's okay. There's no one there." Jane reaches out to touch her, but the doctor's body moves without her own consent and bats Jane's hand away.

"Don't touch us!" Not her words. _Her_ words.

A dark figure rounds the corner, cast in shadow, eyes hard and probing.

[No! NO! NO! AWAY! NO NO NOAWAYNONO **AWAY** NONONONONO!]

The red girl implodes.

…

.

 **One Week Ago**

...

 _The way she falls could be called dreamless sleep, but in all medical honesty‒ the doctor passes out. The doctor fades more and more as the red girl absorbs control of her body starting in the outer extremities._

 _Within just a few seconds,_ _ **She** __can twitch their fingers. And within minutes,_ _ **She** __can sit up._ _ **She** __is no longer a concept. Now_ _ **She** __just_ _ **is**_ _._

 _She assesses her_ _surroundings, quickly deciding her captors are as idiotic as they sound. Easily working her way out of a single loop of duct tape, she unbinds herself in just a few minutes._

 _The red girl feels her way along the wall of the vehicle, unsurprised to find there isn't a way out from the inside. She would just have to wait. Smug. She's waited for centuries for a subject as cooperative as the doctor. But now she is proving herself a testy host. Ever since_ ** _that_** _ **woman** and her children fell into their life, the doctor has learned to fight. It would be laughable, but she's much stronger than anticipated. _

_She shakes her head. It's a stupid thought. They can't live without each other. That's just how it works. It's how it's always been._

 _She waits._

 _..._

 _"What are we still doing here? It's been hours."_

 _"Were you listening at all? We're waiting for a call."_

 _"We should've got it by now. How are we supposed to not look suspicious in this big ass van?" The vehicle shifts and one of the men grunts in pain. "Hey! What was that for?"_

 _"I can't believe I'm stuck here with you!"_

 _She hears the distinct sound of the door opening, not even bothering to return to her previous position this time._

 _"Where're you goin'?"_

 _"To check on her, what'dya think?"_

 _She braces herself against the door, anticipating his every step. The key turns in the door, and the second the latch gives, she shoves the door with all her strength. It connects solidly‒ the desired effect, dazing the man, giving her a window for escape._

 _But she doesn't want to escape._

 _No._

 _She climbs out of the vehicle keeping her movement slow and deliberate‒ it's more thrilling that way. To strike fear into the heart of her prey... it's the greatest thrill of all._

 _He is sturdy and muscled‒ enough to destroy the likes of her. But she's angry and fast and all-too-innocent-looking. She doesn't stop to wonder if he knows what's happening to him as she kicks the back of his knee, grounding him. She doesn't care whether or not he has a strong name or a house full of kids while she wraps her fingers around his neck and slams his face onto the bumper._

 _The sound of bone clashing metal doesn't faze her._

 _She simply doesn't care._

 _It's only a matter of time before his partner suspects something isn't right. But she's not worried. The thought of what she's about to do excites her like no other._

 _Head positioned‒ she smiles to herself, almost giddy with delight. It's been too long since she's had the chance to sate herself. She takes hold of the heavy door, and without so much as another thought, she swings the door shut. But all it does is ram into the obstacle and bounce off almost playfully._

 _She pouts for a few seconds, disappointed that he didn't scream or cry out._

 _Oh well, she'll just have to do it again._

 _This time, she calculates perfectly‒ she's learned her lesson. A wide grin cracks her face as she slams the door with all the power she can muster. The dull cracking noise that follows seeps through her skin and enters her veins like a narcotic. It drives her to do it again._

 _And again._

 _And again._

 _And once more for good measure._

 _When she finally takes a step back to admire her work, she notices the mess. He's got blood on her lab coat. That simply won't do. She certainly will not provide the doctor with an escape route only to have her caught for murder once she's safe. No. That won't do either._

 _She shrugs out of her coat, unsure of where to stash it, but before she can think about it too hard, she hears the familiar sound of sneakers slapping pavement._

 _The other man is trying to run._

 _She almost laughs out loud._

 _A use for the bloodied lab coat, she decides, is to wring it around his neck._

..

.

 **Present Time**

...

The numbness she recognizes all-too-well envelopes her in a matter of seconds, dissolving the doctor faster than ever before. _She_ is a torrent of fear and hate, but once _She_ is in control, the itching stops completely. The doctor is far gone, somewhere locked away in the prison of concept _‒_ of an unknown consciousness. Now it is the red girl who walks the earth.

She launches herself to her feet like a provoked animal. All fight and hellbent on escaping alive. Surviving. Alone.

The figure holds it's hands up, calm and non-aggressive, but she doesn't believe it. She can't. It's a threat. Danger. Danger. Danger. Fight-fight-fight-and-run-run-run. She rushes towards it, confused when she feels anchored in place.

Arms. Who? **_That woman_**.

"Maur, calm down. It's okay. You're safe."

"No," she fights at the strong hold around her waist. "No! NO! NO! AWAY! Go!"

She pounds her fists frantically into the forearms holding her at bay. Gotta fight. Gotta get away! She throws herself to the ground, but Jane is too strong. Hopeless. Helpless. What's the difference?

"Maura, please come back to me!"

She feels a tug. It's small at first _‒_ like small tapping. But as each second passes, it grows in intensity. Like a beating heart... a will to escape. She feels something worming around inside her head, infesting her thoughts... it almost feel like... no... it can't be. She fights harder.

"Maura, please! Please, you're hurting yourself."

But she can't stop. She's _not_ Maura.

"I not!" she yells, wondering why she can't formulate sentences. In every other instance of taking over the doctor's body, she has gained her extensive vocabulary, her words. But not this time. Could it be? Is the doctor strong enough to take back control?

The dark figure advances, kicking her heart into overdrive. She can't get away. She can't move.

"Maura, everything's okay... Everything's okay..."

A sharp pinch in her neck infuriates her, and she lashes out to let it be known. But suddenly her movements slow, sluggish and heavy. She tries again only to find her arms won't move at all.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing? What did you do to her?"

"Hurry up." A man's voice. Hushed but stern and commanding. "It won't last much longer. _She's_ strong."

"It's okay. You're safe. I've got you," Jane whispers as the red girl fades back into the recesses of the doctor's mind. Her knees buckle, and she bows into Jane's body. "Shh. It's okay. Nothing's gonna hurt you."

…

.

 **One Week Ago**

...

 _The doctor wakes up again, terrified and confused to find herself in full sprint._

 ** _Not again... No._**

 _[Run.]_

 ** _I... I was…_**

 _She picks her brain, trying to remember what has happened to her. She remembers the tightness of her wrists and ankles, bound with tape. She remembers the hot air scorching her lungs in the tights space of the back of a van. She remembers... she was captured. Kidnapped. Abducted._

 _Her feet beg her to stop, each new footfall intensifying the rawness of her bare soles. She hasn't the energy nor the will to continue._

 _Up ahead, she sees it. Just under a streetlamp, she spots a bench. Just a plain metal bench‒ the kind you find at bus stops or in parks, but none of that matters. To the frightened doctor, it's a solace._

 _And by the time she sits, she's already gone._

...

.

 **Present Time**

...

[Wake up.]

She rouses from sleep slowly, her brain struggling to recollect and recognize her whereabouts. Unable to keep her thoughts from derailing, she instead focuses all her energy on the bullet points of her surroundings.

Dark. Soft. Warm. Silent.

All around it's dark, save for the pale light shining through the gap beneath the door. Below her it's soft. She splays her fingers out on the material beneath her: a blanket, a pillow. A bed, decidedly. The air in the room is warm. Too warm and concentrated like there's a heater blowing air directly onto her. She sits up, a bit disoriented but otherwise fine.

 _Where are we?_

[No know.]

She takes in a breath to calm herself, freezing at a low drawling from the other side of the door. Two feet block out some of the light below the door, and the air catches in her lungs. Someone knocks three times on the door, but her voice has left her.

"Jesus, what'd you give her? She's been asleep for hours." Jane. Her Jane, angry and worried.

"She's fine. Don't worry about her. Just be glad I did what I did, okay? She's dangerous."

"Maura?" Jane says. Her tone suggests she doesn't believe him in the least bit. "She's not dangerous... She was scared."

"I didn't say _Maura_ was dangerous."

"Yeah, you did." Jane's shadow moves from the door, and the doctor takes this as her chance to slide off the bed and press her ear to the door.

"Maura's not dangerous... _She_ is."

Her nerve-endings ignite. He _knows._ But how?

[Away.]

 _I can't. There's no other way out._

"You're not making any sense."

The man clears his throat, but the sound quickly turns to an ominous chuckle. "You mean you don't know then?"

"Know what? What're you talking about?" she sounds annoyed, like she thinks he's wasting her time with lies.

 _Who is he?_

[No know.]

 _How does he know about us?_

[No know.]

"And you think she didn't know anything about you... Jane, Jane, Jane..." he scolds. "You know nothing about her either."

"You're telling me you know something I don't? I've lived with her for months... I know her... I l _‒_ "

The man cuts her off with a single forced laugh. "You love her? Do you? You don't even know _what_ she is."

She can practically picture Jane balling her hands into fists, seconds away from letting him have it for real. And she can only imagine how his words feel without the cover of a door. All she wants is to pull Jane into this strange room and hold onto her until everything disappears.

"He didn't tell you anything did he?"

"No. Nothing."

"And you never questioned any of it? You never asked yourself why she needs protection?"

"I... I..." Jane stammers, sounding less and less like her confident self with each syllable. "I'm gonna go check on her."

She takes a step back from the door to let Jane inside, not bothering to jump back on the bed and pretend she wasn't listening. That would be a form of lying, and she'd rather not break out into hives or go vasovagal at a time like this.

The door creaks open, and Jane sticks her head in, "Maur?"

"Jane." _Where are we?_

She feels herself compressed against Jane's body, held securely in place with her arms. It's the kind of embrace would normally soothe the loudness in her head, but this time, it feels different. Like Jane couldn't believe in it either. Almost hollow, even.

"Are you hurt?" Jane asks, moving her hands to the doctor's shoulders.

"No, I'm fine."

"So you heard all that?"

"I did."

 _He knows. He has to know. But how?_

"Jane," she whispers, afraid the man is listening, "where are we?"

"I don't really know, but nothing's gonna happen to you, alright? I make sure nothing happens to you."

She glances at the door, hesitant to ask the next part. "Who was that?"

"He..." she takes the doctor's hand and leads her to sit down on the bed. "We just work for the same man. He's... he's making sure we don't leave before he gets here."

 _Who?_

Jane switches on the bedside lamp, revealing a plain bedroom that only makes the doctor feel sick to her stomach. She doesn't know this place. There's no way to know what that man is really thinking _‒_ who he might really be. She wants to go back to Charly and Sophie and take the tour of that school like they were supposed to. She wants to listen as Charly plays with her toys and as Sophie pretends to read her books.

She wants to go home.

"Hey, Maur?"

 _No... please. Please don't._

"Back at the station... you started to panic. Do you remember?"

She stares down at her hands, ashamed of what Jane must have seen. "Yes."

"Hey, it's alright. You were scared." Jane must think she's fragile. On some level, the doctor knows Jane believes she is in constant need of someone else's bravery. But this time, it wasn't the doctor who was afraid.

"I had you with me... I wasn't afraid. I knew nothing could hurt me... but _She_ didn't know that." It comes out just a ghost of a whisper. So quiet and delicate, she wonders for a moment if Jane even heard her.

"I don't think I understand."

She's not allowed to tell. It's as simple as that. If she tells, the red girl will punish her from the inside out, and she's not willing to risk that. No one can know. Not even Jane.

[Good.]

"It's nothing. Never mind." Her skin prickles at the lie, but she'd rather break out in hives all over her body that anger _Her_.

"Alright, if you say so." And there's nothing indifferent about her tone. Jane means it like she's accepting it.

Seconds pass in silence, neither one of them knowing what to say to make it feel remotely okay. This is not how either of them pictured this day would turn out.

"Maura, I need you to listen to me, okay?"

Her tone clenches around the doctor's heart. Bad news. It could only be bad news. But she swallows the lump in her throat and nods anyway. "Okay."

"I don't know what's going to happen when he gets here... You were never supposed to know about any of this. If something happens to me _‒_ "

That knot anchors in her throat again, but she can't let Jane keep going in the direction she's going. "It sounds like you're saying goodbye."

"Look, Maura... if you ever found out, I was supposed to take you to the train station and wait for more instructions. To me, that sounds like a failsafe almost. Get you to safety... where you don't need me anymore... Then what do you think happens to me? You think I can just walk away? From these people?"

"Stop!" She doesn't want to hear any of this. Just mere seconds ago she was blissfully unaware of the idea Jane could disappear.

"Stop!" she repeats, bringing her hands up to cover her face.

"Maur, just let me say this. Please."

She shakes her head defiantly, "I don't want to say goodbye... Because... Because then all of this is real, and we can't go back to how it was. I just want to go back, Jane."

She's crying now, and she hates it. It's not the tears that make her weak, it's her inability to accept the inevitable. Jane couldn't last forever. The girls couldn't be hers. She was right to tell herself all along that they weren't hers to keep.

Hot tears in a hot room, she could suffocate right then and there.

It's not just the looming notion of goodbye. It's all of this. It's the three-year-old girl forced to throw her puppy over the side of a bridge. It's the middle schooler that nearly drowned in an aquarium tank. It's the college student who killed the first boy she ever loved.

It's all because of _Her_. Maybe if she lived her life without a demon in her head, she would be strong and confident and brave. Maybe she would have a family and friends and co-workers that aren't terrified of her. But she is stuck with the red girl. There's no changing that, and there's no point in feeling sorry for herself. She's accepted it all her life. There's no reason to stop now.

"Then I won't say goodbye," Jane says finally. "I won't."

She looks up then, expecting dark, grave eyes, but she's met instead with soft brown ones. The kind she remembers from all those café breakfasts so long ago. Through it all, Jane is still the same as she always was. Kind. Strong. Beautiful.

Their legs brush, both dressed in identical sweatpants due to the abruptness of this morning. The doctor finally lets herself relax against Jane's side, finding comfort in their silence. It's easy. Jane always makes it easy. Even when it really shouldn't be.

"Rizzoli!" the man calls from the other room, eliciting a sigh from Jane.

She stands and moves in front of the doctor, pressing a hand into the mattress on both sides of the doctor's legs. This type of closeness used to frighten her into the point of backing away, but now she finds herself closing the small distance between them.

Jane pulls back an inch, just before their lips can touch. "I meant what I said this morning."

She closes her eyes and nods. Never once did she doubt the sincerity of the words. "I know."

Jane leans in again without stopping this time. The kiss starts slow, but never accelerates from there. Instead, it's soft and lingering. Grounding

"Rizzoli!"

Jane pulls back and meets the doctor's eyes. Those three words she whispers wrap sets the doctor's heart ablaze.

"I love you."

The door swings open, a man taking up almost its entirety. And it's not only his physical size but his stage presence. He seems to take up the whole room.

"Rizzoli," he says firmly, like he will not be ignored. His permanent scowl etches deeper into his face as Jane steps between him and the doctor.

"What do you want?"

"He's here."


	17. Susurrus

_Can five seal silently?_

.

Jane moves slowly, checking over her shoulder every few steps to make sure the doctor is safe behind her as instructed.

[Help?]

 _I... I'm not sure. Just wait._

[Help?]

 _Hold on._

She pushes resistance to all corners of her mind, trying her best to send the voice a clear message. _She_ doesn't fare well in delicate situations, and the last thing she wants to do is expose herself for what she is in front of Jane again.

The room outside the bedroom is small and sparsely furnished. The makeshift lighting of oil lamps and camping lanterns and the musty smell suggests the house hasn't been inhabited in at least a few months. She wonders if she is the sole purpose this location exists.

She moves carefully behind Jane, not daring to peek around the long torso before her. Because if she sees him, he exists, and she can no longer deny an absolute truth she has known since Pike's murder: The ice pick killer was protecting her.

She knows exactly who this _boss_ is. She just doesn't want to believe it.

At first, he is cast in shadows. Hiding perhaps deliberately in the darkened hall. An eerie silence percolates through the deadened air, tensing Jane's shoulders beneath her touch and suspending the doctor above a vat of vulnerability.

"Sam," the name comes out from the dark like an order. Understanding immediately, the man beside Jane wraps a meaty hand around the doctor's arm and pulls her roughly out in the open.

"It's her," Sam confirms, vice-like grip on her arm only tightening.

[Help?]

 _No._

The man emerges from the darkness, heavy boots clunking on the worn wooden floor. Jane takes a step closer to the doctor, tense and coiled, but spring-loaded to strike. She doesn't trust her own boss, but why should she? He killed a man for her, framed her, made her disappear.

"It's her, " Sam repeats, pushing her forward like an offering.

She rubs her arm, grateful to be free from his hold, but she makes the mistake of looking up. Pale blue irises immobilize her, but it appears as if she has the same effect on him. He is real and right in front of her, but she's not afraid. She's just numb.

But in her experience, nothing good that comes from that feeling.

He searches her eyes, looking for something... looking for _Her_.

She feels the red girl shift with unease, scraping at the walls of her brain, trying to get her to listen. But listening to the voice is a death sentence. For everyone involved.

"I'm sorry," he says.

The apology seems unfitting, yet his sincerity never comes into question. He doesn't look like a man used to pardoning himself. She nods, unsure of what he is apologizing for.

Of all the things she has forgotten lately _‒_ phone numbers, store locations, and co-workers _‒_ she has managed to hold onto one piece of terrible information. She cannot recall the shade of the charts or any exact numbers, but sure as herself, she knows this man _‒_ this killer _‒_ is her father.

She takes an involuntary step back, wincing as Sam roughly takes hold of her arms again. The red girl managed to get a step in, but that's all _She_ is going to get.

[Let help. Away. Save.]

 _I'm not in danger here._

"Hey, take it easy, she's not gonna run," Jane tries, but all she gets is a grunt of acknowledgment. In this place, she has no control.

"He's not worried about her running," Sam says, adjusting his bruising grip to her upper arms.

[No.]

 _It's okay._

[Away!]

If she doesn't give _Her_ permission to take over, _She_ will only force her way into control. Her father knows this. He _has_ to. He _has_ to know that his daughter wasn't killing in cold blood by choice.

"Why does everyone keep talking about her like she's two different people?!" Exasperated. Jane wants the truth. She deserves the truth, and for that very reason, she's not going to get it. Her inquiry goes ignored.

The red girl squirms beneath the doctor's skin, fighting for control of her body. _She_ wants to run. To attack. To kill and reset.

[Go.]

 _Please, you'll only make it worse._

[Away! Go! GO!]

Blue eyes meet hers again. They are the only part of him that shows even a flicker of softness for her. Dressed in dark earth tones a donning a mask of cool indifference, he looks like just the type of man who wouldn't mind sinking an ice pick right through her chest.

She screws her eyes shut and clenches her teeth, fighting the loss of feeling in her feet. It's happening. Slowly.

"Is _She_ under control?" he asks, confirming her suspicions. If he knows of _Her_ existence, what else does he know? How does he know? Can he stop _Her?_

She shakes her head, "No. _She's_... _She's_ trying."

The sound of his boots on the floor lets her know he's moved closer. "Listen to me, Maura. Breathe. You're in control. You have more fight than _Her_. _She_ needs to know that."

All she can manage is a nod as the feeling creeps up into her shins. "Is _She_ more than halfway?"

A shake of the head. "Knees," she says, pushing the word past her teeth.

"That's good. Now focus on keeping _Her_ there." His voice is strong and powerful. Like he knows what he's doing... Like he's done this before.

But she can't. She is scared the red girl will win. That _She_ will break through all the doctor's defenses and take control like _She_ always does. Then a worse thought travels into her mind and stains into the tissue of her brain like ink: what if _She_ takes control forever? What if _She_ never pulls back?

"Maura, breathe. Where is _She_ now?"

She places her shaky hands over her stomach, too twisted up to find the right words. He curses under his breath. _She_ might as well have full control at this point.

"What does that mean?" she hears Jane ask, her voice sounding so far away. "What's happening? Doyle, what's going on?"

"Jane," the doctor whispers. Maybe it will work. Jane has always pushed _Her_ away before. Hopefully, that hasn't changed.

"What about her?" her father asks, voice regaining its hardness. He doesn't care about Jane. She is just another disposable employee. One that failed her one job.

She struggles in Sam's grasp, trying to find a way to get her message through. "Not him. _Jane_."

"What difference does it make?" Sam grumbles, digging his fingernails into her skin for a tighter hold. The noise she makes at the new pain is foreign in her ears. He might have been neutral before, but she can feel it. She can feel the red girl lunging at him.

 _Why did you do that to us?_ _She_ _is going to kill you for that._

"She trusts me," Jane says, her words carrying over the loudness in the room. "That's the difference."

...

Sam has no choice but to step aside as Jane fills his place.

Jane stands behind her, running her hands up and down the doctor's arms, soothing the pain and redness left behind. "What do you need, Maura?"

The numbness curls through her chest like smoke. She squints her eyes at the men in front of her and points a heavy hand toward Sam. It's him. His presence is making things worse.

"He needs to go, Doyle."

He nods at Sam, a silent order to leave that goes without question. Then again, he doesn't seem like the type of man that takes defiance lightly.

[Stop.]

 _She_ burns her way down the doctor's arms, claiming everything but her fingertips. _She_ wills the doctor to stop fighting it. She's so far gone, she can't even feel Jane's arms circle and tighten around her. She fears ever Jane won't be able to help her through this.

"It's not working," her father says firmly. All the hope drains from the room as he digs through Sam's backpack, fishing out a syringe.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to sedate her. _She's_ going to take over... You don't want to be here when that happens, trust me." He uncaps the syringe, "Hold her steady."

Jane shakes her head and pulls the doctor closer to her body, "No, we can do this. Just give me another minute... _please_."

Whether he agrees or not _‒_ the doctor can't tell _‒_ Jane takes them a step back and eases them gently to the floor. She replicates everything she knows to have worked in the past. Soft words. Tight arms. Hushed reassurances.

"Come back to me, Maur," she whispers. "It's okay... I don't know who _She_ is, but I won't let _Her_ hurt you. Just stay with me."

Jane's words disappear inside her, syllables anchoring into the bones of their own choosing. Of their own accord.

"It's not working." He's quick to remind her of her apparent failure.

"Hang on." Hard. Defiant. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

 _Listen to him. Just listen to him. He might spare you. He mi‒_

She disappears.

...

.

 **Eleven Years Ago**

...

 _"What is it, darling?" Constance Isles asks over her shoulder, not even bothering to glance at the pair lurking in the doorway._

 _She tucks a golden strand of hair neatly behind her ear and takes a breath to gather her words. Garrett tosses her a grin that absolutely says 'you can do this.' He believes in her. He loves her._

 _"Mother, I..."_

 _"Yes?"_

 _In two weeks, she will celebrate her twentieth birthday, and all she really wants are her parents to look at her like she's their daughter. Their real daughter. Or at the very least, join her and Garrett for dinner to celebrate._

 _"Will you turn around, please?"_

 _With a sigh, the older woman steps back from her piece and wipes her hands on her smock. Always one to dress formally, even under the premise of an evening of sculpting._

 _The mild irritation from the inconvenience completely drops from her features as her eyes fall upon the man at her daughter's side. "Garrett! What a nice surprise! Welcome home, darlings."_

 _She feels it then. Thick and highly viscous. A stab of jealousy. Why won't her mother always look at her the way she does when Garrett's in the room?_

 _"Let me call your father. We must have lunch to celebrate!"_

 _..._

 _Two weeks later, she finds herself seated at a beautiful, private table in her favorite restaurant in town, talking easily with the man she has mapped out her life with more than just a few times. She's happy. Genuinely happy._

 _Her parents are coming to celebrate._

 _Her father..._

 _She is all nerves and jitters at the thought of seeing him for the first time since Christmas the year before last. What will he think? Will he regret pulling away from her? Will he try to reconnect once he sees what she has done with her life? Will he like Garrett?_

 _Garrett smiles at her, inviting and familiar. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine."_

 _She lets herself believe him._

 _..._

 _Half an hour later she begins to fidget in her seat. Maura Isles does **not** fidget. Never. It's rude and against everything she was taught as a child. _

_"They'll be here, M. Don't worry about it," he says, looking less and less certain with each reassurance._

 _She decides he's right. They are stuck in traffic or held up at the airport. They will make it, and if they can't, they can just reschedule. No big deal. Right?_

 _"Hey, M?"_

 _She lifts her eyes from the stark tablecloth and tries to look like she isn't half as upset as she feels._

 _"I was going to wait until after dinner, but‒ Hey, what's wrong?"_

 _She shakes her head and wipes at the corners of her eyes. Surprised is definitely not something she should be. Counting on her parents to make an appearance was foolish. She has always known that._

 _"I'll be fine... What were you saying?"_

 _He folds his hands in front of him, bright white teeth peeking through thin lips. His eyes tug at her heart. She has him... She really_ _ **has** __him._

 _"How about I take you sailing with me? Would you like that?"_

 _It takes her a few seconds to realize he has asked a question. Sailing? Out at sea. Secluded. Just Garrett. Maybe out there she won't have to worry about her mother breaking her heart, or her father only solidifying her suspicious that he hates her._

 _She summons some cheer, "Of course... that sounds wonderful."_

 _..._

 _The leave after another hour, deciding to order anyway without their guests. Of all the birthdays in her life, this one‒ despite the absence of her parents‒ earns a spot in her top three. Until the next morning, that is._

 _All it takes is an early morning knock on the door and a police officer with solemn eyes and lips pressed in a tight line to knock her world out of balance._

 _"Miss Isles... I'm terribly sorry. There's been an accident..."_

...

.

 **Present Time**

...

"I think she's waking up."

The world fizzles and contorts before coming into focus. Her internal timeline jumps forward a decade as she presses her palms to her forehead. She sees Jane above her, the paragon of worry. Beside her, her father leans over, keeping a comfortable distance between them.

"Jane?" she tries, shutting her eyes at the sudden pounding in her skull.

"It's okay. You just passed out."

She looks over to her father, " _She_ didn't...?"

" _She_ couldn't... Whatever you did... it worked," he admits. However, the hint of softness in his tone is the only gratitude he offers before freezing over again. He stands, shaking his head as he looks between the both of them.

They hear: "I'll be back."

But what they really hear is: _"Stay here."_

...

Thirty minutes pass, then an hour, and another without any sign of him.

Jane is restless.

The doctor tries her best not to let Jane's pacing agitate her. She can't imagine the confusion from all sides. But even through it all, never once does she demand the truth. She doesn't even ask.

"Jane," she says, having had her fill of watching her disturb the dust coating the floor.

She stops dead on her feet and turns to the doctor, "I brought you here so I could explain I had no choice... So you'd know the truth... Because you deserve the truth..."

 _But?_

"I guess I was the one who didn't know anything." She rakes her fingers through the tangled mass curls that seem to only become more unruly by the hour. "There's something huge I wasn't told, isn't there."

 _Too many things I'm not allowed to tell you..._

 _But there is one..._

She offers only a small nod, unsure of how to go about the only words that will mean anything at a time like this. It's a matter of how and why, but most importantly: is she brave enough?

"Jane," she starts again, but the strangled eye contact between her sitting position and Jane's rigid stance slaughters her words before the have a chance to live.

 _Take control. Be brave._

The doctor rises from the plastic-covered armchair and waits patiently for Jane to start noticeably breathing again. Jane has always been strong. Ever since they met, she has been carrying everything without complaint. Maybe it's time the doctor learned to be strong all on her own.

"Jane, look at me."

Jane trains her eyes on the floor. She's so stubborn. What she doesn't know is that the doctor is equally as stubborn in the form of patience.

"Please look at me?"

She waits until those brown eyes rise to meet her own. Getting her attention _‒_ that was the easy part. Figuring out a way to string together the words she needs to make some sense of this situation for the both of them, well, that's the tricky part.

 _Jane, look..._

 _Well, you see..._

 _When I was..._

 _Look..._

Too late. Can't backtrack now. It tumbles out in one breath: "Jane, that man. He's..."

"He's what?"

Jane needs to know. She takes in a breath to combat the anticipation rolling through her. The truth, as she's always known it, takes time.

 _We don't have time._

 _If I don't tell her, she's going to find out anyway._

At her sides, her fingers curl into fists and her eyes screw shut. What she says next causes Jane to flinch as if she's been struck.

"Jane... he's my father."

...

A heavy silence swallows the room. Awkward and weighted, the doctor feels unstable and ill at ease. Jane is a statue, blank and absolutely unreadable. The worst part is: her father isn't even the secret. He's an add-in to the hell burning hot between her ears courtesy of a certain mind-infesting parasite.

"Are... Are you angry?" she feels the need to ask. Anything to break the tension-infused silence.

"No." Simplistic. Fast. Easy. It's such a _Jane_ answer. She doesn't waste time with excess words. Not when there's a way around it.

"Then what is it?"

"I think... maybe I knew it was something like that. Why would he want to keep a stranger safe, you know? It's just that when I look at you..." she trails off, clearly on the verge of spilling the types of loaded words she's not comfortable with.

"You what?" Curious now, she takes an experimental step toward her stewing companion. Then another. And another. Soon enough, they're inches apart, and despite the strangled situation and the dust in grime coating this creaky old house, the world is beautiful.

"I don't see you like that. I don't see you as my job... or as his daughter. I never have, and I'm not going to start now." She lets her hands rest comfortably at the doctor's hips, her thumbs tracing small circles that disappear beneath the hem of her shirt.

The doctor resists the urge to lean into Jane and instead tips her head up to look her in the eyes.

"You might be his daughter," she whispers, maybe even just now accepting it herself, "but you're not him."

The repetitive motion of Jane's thumbs grazing her skin has an almost hypnotic effect on the doctor. Warmth flutters through her body, and her reply melts away from her tongue. All she can manage is a small nod as Jane applies a small amount of pressure with her thumbs.

"You're still Maura."

...

When her father comes back, she is asked to wait in the bedroom as he speaks with Jane. When she refuses, Sam makes it more than clear that she has no power here. He stands outside her door like a sentry or a prison guard. And she feels like just that: a prisoner.

Not that she gives a damn about herself as the telltale signs and sounds of an argument rising seep through the cracks in the door.

 _Don't hurt her. Don't hurt her. Don'thurtherdon'thurtherdon'thurther._

"She's safe with me! Nothing happened! She just... She just figured it out. I can still keep her safe."

The doctor cannot hear her father's low words, but that only releases her imagination, letting it skyrocket. Images of a lifeless Jane Rizzoli project and flicker on the walls of the room around her. Pale, cold, and crudely decorated with an ice pick. She pictures her own scalpel-equipped hand hovering over Jane's sternum, ready to make the first incision.

Her heart hammers in her chest, deafening, and seemingly unable to take much more of this. Her eyes begin to force themselves shut, and her stomach turns.

She is terrifying herself.

[Stop.]

"What?"

[Stop. Air.]

It's not out of consideration. If the doctor cannot breathe, neither can _She_. So she has no choice. All of her focus slowly detaches from Jane and fixates on the repeated pattern of inhale and exhale. She fills her lungs a half dozen times before returning to normal breaths.

[Good.]

 _He's going to take her away from me._

[Yes.]

Her mind snaps to little Charly and Sophie. Are they scared? Scared to be without their mother? Do they have any idea she might disappear?

 _No._

Flames ignite in her chest, fierce and angry. No child deserves to grow up alone. Just twelve hours ago, the doctor spent her idle moments at work mapping out and daydreaming about every detail of their first day of preschool. How Jane would take the morning off work to help get them dressed, and how the four of them would eat breakfast together _‒_ chocolate chip waffles, strawberries, and freshly squeezed orange juice. How she would hold Charly's hand and maybe even Sophie's if she allowed it as they walked together into their very first classroom. How she and Jane would watch them bound off to play with the other kids. How she would have to find it in herself to drive to work and somehow make it through the day without worrying herself into the ground.

But now that fragile fantasy is coming apart at the seams and spilling out at the hand of her father.

 _He cannot take my life away._

 _Not them._

She loves them. All of them. He has no right to take them away. No right to knock her entire world out of orbit. They mean more to her than anything she's had in a long time _‒_ she can't just let this happen. Without them... without them, there would be next to no reason to try to resist the red girl. She would go back to how she was before them _‒_ alone and out of control. Volatile. Explosive. She would black out nearly every night and wake up covered in blood and grime with absolutely no idea what she's done.

 _No._

 _I need them. They keep me safe. They give me a reason to fight you._

[No fight.]

 _No._

 _ **No**._

She runs her thumbs across the hem of her shirt, finding nothing comforting in the action, but the repetition keeps her occupied. "I need them... and I think... I think that maybe they need me too."

[No. No need.]

"You don't know anything. You can't understand what I feel."

[Yes. Gar _‒_ ]

"It's not the same. The way we felt about him was nothing like this."

 _Don't you feel it? At all?_

[No!]

 _Don't you feel anything for those girls?_

[ **No**.]

 _I don't believe you._

"No like!" the red girl shouts, materializing suddenly at the edge of the bed. Devoid, black eyes ablaze.

The doctor stumbles backward, horrified. She hasn't seen the girl since before college. But the girl isn't so much a _girl_ anymore, but an adult now with the words of the child she has always been.

Red ringlets fall easily past her hips, pooling in her lap as she sits. She leans forward on her hands, dark, unseeing eyes devouring the scare lighting in the room. The doctor's heart kicks up as she scrambles backward, her shoulder blades slamming into the headboard.

"NO!" the woman shrieks. "NO LIKE!"

"You're not real!" the doctor shouts, curling into herself, trying to blink away the creature.

Her denial only infuriates the red woman. She lunges at the doctor, movements jerking and slow like she hasn't moved on her own in years. She moves maniacally and out of control, her hands feeling forward across the bedspread, trying to grasp her.

The doctor seizes in fear.

"H-help." It only comes out in a whisper.

"NO! I YOU! I YOU!"

She is exposed. The parasitic voice is without a host. Even in the strangled moment, the doctor realizes she has her own mind back. In her fit of rage, the woman must have expelled herself from the doctor, like she used to when it was easier to reclaim her body.

But the doctor has learned to fight.

That doesn't make her any less terrified at the monster trying to repossess her.

 _The door..._

If she could just make it to the door, maybe they could trap her in here. She moves towards the edge of the bed slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements. Unfortunately, the second she sets foot on the floor, the old wood groans beneath her.

Red hair flies all around the woman as her head snaps toward the doctor. Her stomach nearly drops into her feet, but the new fear hasn't the time to register before a blurry form of red, porcelain, and faded pink charges at her. The doctor tries her hardest to get her limbs to respond, but her brain seems to misfire as she scrambles backward into the corner, clumsily knocking the lamp off of the nightstand, shattering the bulb, and tossing the room into darkness.

 _No no nonononono._

She takes a step back, broken glass crunching beneath the soles of her shoes. Her pulse hammers in her ears, but if that's not loud enough to attract the monster, her breathing most definitely is.

In the faint light from the street outside, the doctor can make out the faint shape of the woman. Moving with lurch left and right on stiff, shaky legs, she is the content of the doctor's worst nightmares.

"I you," she whispers hoarsely.

She is frozen with her back against the wall, petrified and completely incapable of moving even an inch. This is it. She managed to shake free of the red girl, only to get her back within a matter of seconds.

 _No..._

She grits her teeth and forces herself to stand on her own two feet. "No!"

The woman starts for her again, fast but imprecise and wild. She cannot control her own actions. The doctor takes this as her chance. She shoves past the struggling woman and runs like hell toward the door. She fumbles for the doorknob, panic gripping her lungs as she can't manage to get a grip on it.

She can feel the monster behind her. Just ten steps away. The doctor makes a noise of pure desperation and pounds on the door with her hands.

"Open it! Open it, please. Let me out!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down." Sam. She never thought she would be so happy to hear his voice.

"NO!" the woman hisses behind her, just out of range behind her now.

She can hear Sam's key turning in the lock, and she begs him to hurry. "Please! Please, hurry!"

Cold, lifeless fingers swipe across her shoulder blades, too off-balance and disoriented to get a proper grip. But the monster is too late. The door cracks open, and the doctor flings herself out into the light. She whips around, catching the doorknob in both hands and pulls it shut with so much force she falls backward onto the dusty ground.

"What the hell?" Doyle. Her father. "What happened?"

"L-lock it!" she shrieks at Sam, who nearly drops his key set in surprise. But he does so and only then does she let herself take a breath.

She feels a familiar presence beside her and immediately lets herself sink into her. Jane draws the doctor into her arms, but the tenseness in her shoulders and neck isn't lost on the doctor.

" _She's_ in there," she whispers, knowing it sounds insane. It _is_ insane. But it's real. It's all real. She's free. Isn't she?

 _Are you there?_

Silence.

 _Hello?_

Nothing.

The inside of her head feels cool. Relieved. She can hear her own thoughts, but nothing else.

"Are you hurt?" Jane asks softly, already running her hands down the bare skin of the doctor's arms, checking for wounds.

"I'm alright. I'm... I'm okay."

 _ **She's** __gone!_

A wide smile breaks across her face, "Jane! _She's_... gone!"

The doctor pulls away from her embrace to look her in the eyes. She finds confusion swimming in dark irises, but she understands. Jane never knew the truth. Still, she can't help the excitement that fills her to the absolute brim.

" _She's_ gone," she repeats, as if letting it out into the air will somehow set it in stone.

"You're okay?" Jane says, asking the only question she knows to ask that elicits a vehement nod from the doctor.

"I'm okay, Jane," she whispers, jovial and completely bright for the first time. " _She's_ gone."


	18. Hiraeth

_The seal is severed, possibly._

.

"Go," he says with urgency. "Go."

"What?"

"Go!"

Jane doesn't need any more clarification. In one swift motion, she has herself and the doctor off the filthy floor and rushing for the door. They barely get halfway across the room before the doctor is jerked to a stop.

 _No! Why are you stopping?! Jane! Let's go!_

 _ **She'll** __catch us! What are you doing?!_

She whips around, tugging at Jane and pointing insistently at the door. She sees only a brief flash of the cold intensity in her father's eyes amidst her panic.

"Keep her safe." An order. Then they're flying.

The doctor runs with purpose, finally free. Finally herself. Jane's hand in her own, she runs like never before. She runs for all the times it was impossible to escape. She runs for Jane and Charly and Sophie.

She runs to save herself.

...

It's late. Maybe one or two in the morning, but she knows she won't sleep. She feels light and frail. Like she has lost the only thing anchoring her to the earth. She checks her seat belt again, making sure she is fastened properly. Never before has she felt so exposed to the world.

She doesn't understand.

All her life she has wanted to rid herself of the red girl, and now that _She_ is gone, the doctor feels off-balance and vulnerable. How will she protect herself? How will she survive?

"Are you... How are you feeling?"

 _Lost._

 _Half-full._

"Different."

"Good different?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Jane nods and keeps her eyes on the road. The doctor is certain that she only wants to get home in one piece. "Is there anything you need? Anything at all?"

 _Sophie._

 _Charly._

"The girls," she says quietly, voice barely above the quiet hum of the engine. It's late, and maybe it's too much to ask for, but they are all she wants. She needs to see them. To hold them in her arms and make sure they're safe.

Wordlessly, Jane turns the car around.

...

The lights blaze inside Jane's mother's home, an odd sight in the sleepy Boston suburb. A look of unease settles into Jane's features, reflecting the very same feeling into the doctor.

It takes her mother the expanse of five seconds to answer the door. "Thank god, you're back!" Her exhaustion is more than apparent as she draws them into her home. It's warm and well-lived-in in the sort of way the doctor has never experienced so fully.

"Did something happen?" Jane asks scanning the room almost urgently. "Are they okay?"

The doctor shifts on her feet, reminded that she is a stranger in this world. This woman has no idea who she is. She might as well disappear completely because even that would be better than standing off to the side. Irrelevant.

"Janie, they're fine," her mother reassures, placing a hand gently on Jane's arm. It's far too late for any of this. Today was most certainly a mistake. Every part of.

"Then why‒ Why are you up?" Jane reaches behind her blindly, and somehow the doctor is able to interpret what she needs. She clasps Jane's hand in both her own, holding it close to her chest as Jane appears to ease herself.

"They're in the kitchen," the woman says, shaking her head. She is so clearly exhausted. "They won't go to bed, and Sophie... she won't stop crying. I don't know what's wrong with her. I've never‒"

"Why is she crying?" Jane asks as she tries to see strains to see around the corner into the kitchen.

"I don't know." The older woman waves her hand in some kind of half-hearted, dismissive gesture, "She keeps saying she needs her doctor."

Jane's stance softens. She steps back and pulls the doctor safely into her side as Mrs. Rizzoli continues on about Sophie's ramblings.

"I checked her temperature. I made her some soup. But she insisted I call her doctor." She shakes her head again and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry, Janie. I tried everything."

"Hey, Ma?"

"Hmm?" her eyes are already drooping shut. The woman looks about ready to fall asleep right where she is standing.

Jane hugs the doctor in closer, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. The doctor rests her head against Jane's shoulder, unbelievably grateful her father didn't put an end to this small comfort.

"This is her doctor, Ma... This is Maura."

...

The doctor learns her name is Angela. Or re-learns. After everything the red girl had forced her to forget, it feels like a small feat to register a lost name back into her head.

Among many other things, she learns Angela Rizzoli favors tight embraces to handshakes any day. She is not quite sure how to respond when the woman hugs her tightly enough to bruise ribs. It's so foreign and wonderful, the doctor cannot help but return the gesture in her own light way.

"So you're the doctor I'm always hearing about?" Angela asks, releasing her from the embrace. Her heart jumps. They've been talking about her?

"I suppose I am."

"Okay, Ma," Jane cuts in, "we'll all have dinner sometime and I can introduce you for real, but it's late. You should be in bed."

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'll be fine." Jane and her mother continue on about something the doctor doesn't fully register, but it's the distant sound of sobbing that has her heart clenching tightly in her chest.

 _Sophie._

She places her hand on Jane's arm and meets her eyes for all of two seconds before it becomes almost impossible for her not to sprint around the corner. It sounds horrible, but she doesn't care about Angela or dinner plans or anything right now.

Just that little girl.

Just her Sophie.

The doctor finds the child at the dining room table, crying as she pushes a black crayon back and forth on a picture of Maleficent. Her sobs hit the air, ragged and hollow. The little girl coughs and drops the crayon to rub at her eyes. She's red in the face. She's miserable.

Gently. Gently. Gently. "Sophie?"

A sharp intake of air. Ceasing sobs. The child glances up with hesitance as if she's afraid she imagined the voice. "Doctor?"

"I'm here."

Within what feels like a fraction of a second, Sophie scoots her chair back and stumbles over to the doctor, little arms held above her head, pleading. In one easy motion, the doctor lifts the girl into her arms.

"I wan‒ I-I wanted you, D-Doctor."

"I'm sorry." She doesn't know what else to say. To be the desired comfort of this particular child feels so much more fragile than it does with Charly. Like Sophie will change her mind at any moment and demand the doctor get away from her.

"I w-wanted my doctor!" she cries into the space between the doctor's shoulder and neck.

"Shh. I know, baby. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I won't leave you again."

"Don't go away, Doctor. Don't go!"

What the child doesn't understand is that the doctor knows the desperation in those words better than anyone. "I won't leave you. I promise."

...

Returning home does not come as a relief in the slightest.

She fears that behind every curtain, around every corner, the red girl lurks, ready to possess her once more. This time for good. But it looks like she is not the only one. Jane squeezes her hand and checks over her shoulder a dozen times in the time it takes to get from the front door to the bedroom.

She's scared.

But the four of them are all cast in shades of fear. It only makes sense that they stick together through the night. That they hold each other close. That they keep each other safe.

It only makes sense.

...

Long after the girls find sleep, the doctor lies awake, back against the headboard, staring into nothing. She is exhausted but terrified of dropping her guard for even a moment. The red girl could be anywhere. Hiding. Lurking. Waiting for the doctor to succumb to sleep. She will never be safe, will she?

She feels the bed shift and nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels a hand cover her own. Relief floods her as she recognizes Jane's touch.

"It's okay, Maura. Get some sleep."

 _I can't._

It feels strange having two little bodies between them. To be so far apart in the darkness. To not feel so completely safe in the cage of long limbs, cocooned in blankets, comforted by the dull thud of a beating heart.

Sophie stirs in her sleep and snuggles closer into the doctor's side. It is extrinsic to everything she has observed about the child, but something in the back of mind warns her not to overanalyze. The girl is asleep. She has no idea who she's snuggling with.

"Maura?"

She takes in a shallow breath in an effort not to disturb the sleeping child. "I'm okay."

The red girl is gone. She owes herself at least a good night's sleep. The first in twenty-seven years sounds all-too-tempting. _She's_ gone. _She's_ gone.

 _She's_ gone.

…

.

 **One Week Later**

...

A feeling of normalcy falls upon the small family as the girls start their very first day of preschool. With bright-colored backpacks and fresh boxes of crayons, the two look about ready to take on the world together. They are so much braver than she was as a child, all she can do is worry.

The same day, the doctor returns to work for the first time since her kidnapping. She is crisp and professional. With her mind and strong memory back, she is an unstoppable force below BPD. She dives back in with a momentum that doesn't seem to fade in the slightest. She gives the lab techs and detectives a reason to remember she's the chief ME.

The doctor is back in her element with her head all to herself.

Even so, she keeps her phone on her person at every second, paranoid the school will call with some sort of catastrophic emergency the second she steps out of the room. Paranoia is something that can never fade completely. Rationally, she knows they are in good hands. And to prove her exactly right, the first day passes without incident. Just happy girls, endless playground tales, and a song centered around the letter _A._

Everything is okay.

As it is the second day. And the third. And the fourth.

...

Sophie changes.

The child crawls into their bed nightly. It becomes like an unmentioned routine‒ the creaking of their door, the little hand on her shoulder, the _Doctor, I had a bad dream._ The doctor cannot believe her eyes each and every night when the little girl pushes into her arms and climbs beneath the blankets. It's as if there were never a time the child loathed her.

It's an interesting thing to think about, really, and as she stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom, systematically moving through her nightly routine, she finds herself taking account of the minutes left until Sophie's visit. She has a hypothesis, but it's fairly ludicrous. A small part of her knows _‒_ just _knows‒_ Sophie knew a lot more than she led on. The distance she kept from the doctor in combination with some of the little things she had made more than clear...

Could she have possibly sensed _Her_ presence? And now that _She_ is gone, the child has nothing to fear? No... that's crazy. The red girl isn't real... She never was... Right?

A hypothesis it shall remain, she decides.

"Hey," Jane says, peeking inside the bathroom and pulling her from her thoughts. "You okay?"

She catches Jane's eyes in the mirror and offers a single nod. "Yes. I was just thinking."

"About?"

"Sophie," she admits, but then quickly adds, "I'm worried about her nightmares."

Jane steps inside, hand trailing behind to make sure the door latches. "You are?"

Truthfully, "Yes, I am. Nightmares are subconscious ways of coping with conscious fears... but hers are reoccurring, Jane. I'm worried she's struggling with something, and..."

"And she won't tell you about it?" Jane guesses.

She sighs and nods, knowing it's no use to try to sidestep the topic. Resolution is a part of Jane's nature. She likes balance, neutrality, and justice. "Yes."

"You know what I think?" Jane asks, using those endlessly long arms to draw the doctor into her body. She rests her hands on top of Jane's, a sound of contentment escaping her as she settles back against Jane's chest.

"What do you think?"

"I think," Jane says, voice low against the shell of her ear, "that she just wants an excuse to be around you."

That catches her off-guard.

"What?"

 _Sophie... she thinks I'm evil._

"You don't believe she's having nightmares?"

"No... Some nights, maybe... but she's had nightmares before. Back in Chicago, she'd get them when whenever I was working a dangerous case," she shrugs a little. "I dunno. Maybe she could sense something. Kids are like that sometimes, you know?"

The doctor nods, deciding that makes perfect sense that Sophie's a bit more perceptive than the average child. Jane pulls her in a little tighter, "Or maybe you make her feel safe now."

 _But... why?_

There are some questions that no matter how hard you think, no matter how hard you try, you just cannot answer them. Some questions live and die out without an inkling of a solution. These are the questions the doctor has distanced herself from all her life. The unknowns and unpredictable. People are full of unanswerable questions.

"She loves you, Maura. They both do."

Love, she decides, is an unanswerable question. An undefined problem in no need of an answer imaginary or otherwise.

"Jane?"

"Hmm?"

A question with an answer. A question she _can_ answer. One she has been asking herself a lot lately: Is she brave enough?

 _Yes._

"I love them... I love your girls so much."

Jane nuzzles into her neck smiles against her. Her voice comes out in a low whisper, but the words themselves echo endlessly throughout the doctor's entire body.

"They can be yours too if you want."

...

It becomes easier.

Sometimes she is so busy with an autopsy or a bedtime story that she forgets all about the voice that used to govern her entire life. She stops waiting for it. Anticipating it. She stops living her life like an over-punctuated sentence, and with each absent caesura, the red girl becomes less and less relevant.

She learns how to bandage _owies_ and _boo-boos_ even though there is no sign of blood or trauma. She learns how to check below the bed and in the closet for monsters. And, of course, she learns how to pick out an outfit specifically for Charly's imaginary friend, Googlab, each morning.

And after only a short while, cutting the crusts off of peanut butter and fluff sandwiches becomes the only logical thing to do. Answering fake cell phones becomes the natural thing to do. And sitting at work with a nursery rhyme stuck in her head becomes expected, if not anticipated.

She is in love with everything.

…

She is welcomed into the Rizzoli family like it is the most natural thing in the world.

Jane properly introduces her to her family, and it takes them all of three seconds to assimilate her into their world. They have dinner at the family home on Sundays where the doctor meets Jane's brothers _‒_ Frankie and Tommy _‒_ and is immediately fascinated with their interactions. Their jokes and teasing comments. She hears dozens of stories about Jane and her playground heroics from more or less mocking standpoints. Not to mention all of the trouble she got into as well. She learns just how notorious her Jane was in this sleepy Boston suburb.

Angela teaches her how to cook some of Jane's favorite dishes, insisting that she feed her daughter and grandchildren right. Saying _No_ to the woman is a concept that does not exist, but the doctor finds herself enjoying the time she spends in Jane's childhood home. And the more she learns about Jane, the less she wants to shy away from this wonderful life they have created together.

She begins to look forward to Sundays.

...

Some nights they call Jenny.

Those are the nights Jane takes her by the hand and leads her out into the world. Whether the cause may be merely a quiet stroll through the Commons or a romantic _‒_ and slightly cheesy, though deeply sincere _‒_ dinner by candlelight, she never tires of the joy coiling through her

Those are the nights Jane shows her what it's like to be in love.

Nights that end in soft kisses like open-ended questions sometimes answered with _Yes, I love you. Forever, I love you_ , and other times answered with deeper kisses and articles of clothing becoming intimately acquainted with the floor. And as the ignited nerve-endings cool to a warm sense of familiarity with time, her life before _‒_ the neglect and loss of control _‒_ fades out of importance.

She becomes herself for the first time in her life.

...

The four of them celebrate her thirty-first birthday together in her late mother's lake house on the shore of Lake Champlain. At first, she is hesitant to return there, telling Jane what she felt in the house as a child was never anything to celebrate. But within only five minutes of arrival, the Rizzolis barrel over all her lonely memories attached to the floorboards and give her new ones filled with love and hope.

...

Charly, being the lightning bolt she is, befriends three boys and a girl from her class and one day, during a play date after school somehow including the lot of them, she proudly introduces her family as _Soph, my mom, and Doctor, my other mom._

Everything is perfect.

Until it isn't.

...

A rather grisly case brings the doctor into the bullpen. The detectives are in need of every bit of brainpower the department has to offer to catch this guy. A serial killer so brutal and clever, the ice pick killer is pushed onto the back burner completely.

At first, she thinks nothing of working with the detectives. It's a job. Nothing more. But it quickly becomes so much more as she is forced to witness the sorrow-filled glances at the empty desk in the back missing it's cocky, self-confident occupant.

The pain in her chest grows deeper by the day as Frost, Korsak, and even Sleeper cannot manage to keep their emotions out of their facial expressions. They miss Crowe. If not that, then they wonder. They wonder what became of him after the day he never came back. More than that, she lives with the weight of the truth on her shoulders like Atlas and the earth.

Crowe is dead. Either that or in some hole so deep he'll never resurface. Her father's men have _‒_ or _had‒_ him. She knows it. He was going to tell her the truth about Jane and what the world thinks she has done. Everything. He was trying to protect her, and what did that get him?

The burden of knowing becomes greater with each day the case drags on. She feels herself growing wearier with each dead end and every _I bet Crowe would know what to do._

It begins to wear on her. She loses too much sleep, and in combination with the hours she forces herself to spend at work, the stress thins her. When she does make it home at a reasonable time, she doesn't have the energy to play with Charly or read to Sophie. She doesn't want Jane to touch her. Her mood sours seemingly permanently.

The guilt begins to eat her alive.

...

She sits in her office, looking over crime scene photos. Or more accurately, the very same photos she's been staring at all week. She _has_ to be missing something.

But she isn't. There's nothing, and she knows it. They are too good. Too thorough. Too good at this. Which, of course, means they have done this before. This murdering thing. Which is usually a good sign... from a criminological/ DNA profile standpoint.

Only their guy is a ghost. Not in the system. Faceless. Nameless. Invincible. Untouchable. _Unstoppable_.

Her head buzzes with words she knows she's not hearing. It's all in her head.

She shakes her head and pushes the photographs away from herself. It's no use. This is a puzzle she cannot solve. She can't _think_ like a killer. She can't put herself in their shoes and walk through the steps in just the way the killer would.

The doctor is of no help to this case.

"I help."

She freezes, absolutely immobilized. Her skin prickles as she feels a presence behind her, but she wouldn't dare turn around.

"I help. I help you."

She tells herself it's nothing. To just go back to work.

She carefully reaches across her desk for the photos, but it's a mistake. The dark, glossy backdrop of the pictures acts like a crude mirror. The figure lunges at full force, knocking into her as she forces her exhausted body to flee. But she's not fast enough.

She's never fast enough.

A flash of red. Her scream is murdered, choked in darkness as she falls.

 _No._

 ** _No!_**

Not again. She won't let _Her_ win. Not now. Not when she has so much to live for. Not when she has a family. A real family.

Her arms shoot out in front of her, the tiny bones in her wrists absorbing her fall. If it hurts, she doesn't notice. She pushes herself to her feet and spins around, furious.

"Where are you?!"

Nothing.

"You don't get to terrorize me!"

Nothing still.

"You can't have me! I won't let you!" She balls her hands into tight fists, "Where are you?!"

Ten seconds pass and then a minute. And another and another. She loses track of the time it takes her heart to stop racing, but there is one thing she knows for certain. Easing back into her chair, she takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She folds her hands in her lap and tries her best to slow the thoughts ricocheting around inside her head.

She is alone.


	19. Zerfall

**One Month Later**

...

 _She_ doesn't return.

In literature, there is often a final battle. A test of wits or new found strength. A hopeless fight turned around at the last possible second. For this reason, she is reluctant to believe it's really over. Could it be that easy? That simple?

The obvious answer is no. No, it's not over. _Everything_ with the red girl is a ruse.

But days pass without incident, then weeks of silence, and before she knows it, she finds herself beside Jane, trailing behind an angel and a Power Ranger as they run from house to house collecting candy in their pumpkin buckets.

The crisp October chill makes her wish she appreciated the heat while she had it. She shrugs deeper into her jacket, smiling as the girls race ahead. Their street isn't packed, but the sun has yet to set. It was the only way they could get Sophie to go out. Earlier, she had nearly thrown a tantrum because she thought no one would be able to see her angel costume in the darkness.

Such a tiny thing to fret about, but to the child, it's the world. More than anything, the doctor understands what it's like to think so much about the minute things in life. Sometimes, in the long run, the smallest things are the most important _‒_ a smile, a joke, a story with no end.

She lost track of how many times the girls tried to cheer her as the days dragged her by the wrists. Charly even made it a goal to have the doctor smiling by dinnertime every day. And little Sophie would read, or at least pretend to read. Book after book, the little girl would share fairytales and stories‒ anything to pull the doctor out of her languid state.

When she asked Jane why they kept trying, she offered only a shrug and mumbled so quietly the doctor almost missed it. _"That's just what family does."_

It took her all of nineteen days to understand the truth in Jane's words.

But today is the first in weeks she has felt like a person. The first day she has woken up thinking about something other than the empty desk up in the bullpen. The first day she has been able to accept that his disappearance was beyond her control.

It wasn't her fault.

"Well," Jane says, as they pass a rather gruesome-looking scarecrow. Their neighbors seemed to spare nothing with the fake blood and faux disembodied limbs, "I guess this isn't bad for your first Halloween."

"I think it's wonderful," she says honestly. Already, this means so much to her‒ getting to be a part of something she grew up watching through windows.

"It would have been better if it were dark out."

"I like it just like this." She leans herself into Jane's side seeking some kind of heat to combat the weather. It was an impulse, really. For just a moment she seemed to forget the wedge she has driven between them. She can feel Jane tense against her, surprised at the sudden generous contact. It's been weeks since they have been so close.

Jane wraps an arm tightly around her waist, probably fearing this closeness is the result of some kind of lapse in judgment. That it will end just as suddenly as it began, but the doctor would do anything to make her believe otherwise. She _wants_ this. All of this. But before she can synthesize the words, Jane brings her back.

"You're just happy I didn't drag you out at night, scaredy-cat."

It's true. So much so, she can't begin to describe the relief she felt when Sophie got her way.

"Maybe I am."

Jane hesitates but continues anyway. "Are you still okay?"

A repeated question. The _wrong_ question. She doesn't want to be _okay_. She wants to be wonderful. Better. Stronger. She hopes for these things‒ to one day wake up in total acceptance that she's no longer in danger. To know for damn sure she's the one governing her choices, her pattern of thought, and _all_ of her actions.

 _Yes..._

 _...and I'm sorry. I haven't been myself lately._

But she loses her nerve.

"I'm cold," she offers as her admission. It's a superficial answer to a deeper question. She knows this. But pretending to be far too literal seems easier. Better for everyone, really.

With a smiling shake of the head, Jane pulls her in a little closer, "Can't have that."

Jane knows the truth, but she never presses. Never pushes past _Are you okay?_ Though, sometimes the doctor wishes she would. Wishes she would corner her. Wishes she would grab her by the shoulders and rattle her. Wishes she would snap her like a bone that healed the wrong way the first time.

But Jane would never. Jane would never hurt her.

 _Can't have that._

...

They spend the lightless hours of the evening sorting and checking through Halloween candy and trying to keep track of how many Charly takes when she thinks the doctor isn't looking.

Seven.

Four mini chocolate bars, two bags of Skittles, and a handful of candy corn.

Already in her head, the doctor is calculating just how long it's going to take to get the child to go to sleep in only a couple hours. The excitement. The sugar. It's going to be impossible. She can hear the struggle already. _But I'm not tired!_ and _Can I pleeeease stay up?_

"Take it easy, kid," Jane says, as Charly reaches for another miniature chocolate bar, but the little girl just swipes two more and runs away, a flash of the bright blue and silver that colors her a temporary superhero.

As Charly makes her escape, Sophie wanders back into the kitchen, her sparkly halo starting to droop to the side. Even so, she makes the perfect little angel. Appearance-wise, anyway. The child has her sharp side, that's for sure. The doctor still cannot believe there was once a time this child could make her feel so small.

But none of that matters at all as the girl stretches her arms above her head. Her wordless request interpreted without so much as a second thought. The doctor lifts the little girl into her arms already running through their quiet routine of _how was your day_ 's and _are you sleepy_ 's.

"We got candy, Doctor," the child mumbles as she rubs her eyes, signifying the hour. "We got lossa candy, Doctor."

"You did. You and Charly both."

Sophie yawns, but even her exhaustion can't mask the vehement shake of her head, "I did. I got more than Charly."

"Well, of course, you did."

"I did, Doctor. I did."

A few minutes later she brings herself to let the child down. Not long ago Sophie wouldn't come near her, but in this short matter of months, it seems that everything has changed. She has her own head and a new family. She should be home free, shouldn't she?

She shouldn't feel a pang deep in her stomach whenever she passes Detective Crowe's desk or hears his name in the whisperings of the curious new lab techs. She shouldn't feel sick whenever she passes the photo of him tacked up on the bulletin board in the hall. She shouldn't care.

She's free, right?

Right?

...

.

 **Nine Years Ago**

...

 _At twenty-two, she searches for her mother._

 _Not Constance Isles‒ though finding her would only require MapQuesting the location of a certain upper-end cemetery. Constance could be found within stepping distance from Arthur, her father. Twin plots, yes, with absolutely no room to the left or right._

 _Perhaps they assumed their daughter would live forever._

 _Maybe she will._

 _But it isn't Constance Isles for whom she pools her best resources, but a nameless woman so far masked in erasure. Finding her has proven to be next to impossible: It was a closed adoption. No trace. Any and all files were sealed tightly and irretrievable. No leaks. No stray copies. No chance._

 _There are some strings even an Isles can't pull. Or a Smith. Or a Jacobson. Or whichever name is right._

 _She may have wanted to know them, but they didn't want to know her._

...

.

 **Present Time**

...

The doctor picks the girls up from school one uncharacteristically warm November afternoon. It's such a beautiful day, she lets herself get swept up in the girls' pleas to go to the park just a few blocks away.

She finds a wooden bench that faces the apparatus and watches the girls as they explore the playground for the first time since the summer. It has taken on a new layer of orange and yellow leaves, some of which clog the exit of the slide. No doubt the work of a mischievous group of children.

Nonetheless, the girls jump right in. They chase each other and take turns on the monkey bars. They get along for once... It's a truly miraculous sight. She can easily remember a time the two resorted to solving their small disagreements with some form of violence. Some days, she feels as though if she doesn't separate them, they will tear each other apart.

But now the doctor finds herself sighing in relief. They are not at each other's throats; she can sit back and relax for a moment‒ take in the ranging decay of chlorophyll in the leaves. Though a warm day, the air is still brisk. But in a good sort of way. She feels sharp and alert.

A quick glance around tells her that aside from them, the park is empty. Even at this time of year, she expected to see at least one other mother occupying the seat on the other end of the bench or a few joggers on the paths winding throughout the small park. But there is no one, and for some reason, there's something wrong with that.

The kind of _wrong_ that feels like pinpricks on the back of her neck beneath the soft material of her scarf. Like a strange tapping on the back of her skull, bumping her eyes out of focus over and over and over again. It takes her a moment to right herself, to convince herself she is just being paranoid. Scared for nothing.

They're all safe.

She relaxes back into the bench, telling herself that everything is fine. Multiples of nine file through her mind as she takes in a deep breath to calm herself. There's no threat. Just a park. Just her girls.

 _I'm fine. Really, it's okay._

And then she sees him.

...

Beside a tree on the other side of the swing set, he's standing with his hands in his pockets watching her. Waiting for her to notice him. She feels around her pockets for her cell phone, but a single shake of the head diminishes any ideas of a phone call.

Charly says something, but the doctor is frozen in place with a pair pale blue eyes.

"Doctor? Doctooooor?" Mitten-covered hands come to rest on the doctor's cheeks. "Are ya home in there, Doctor?"

Getting no answer, the child huffs out a sigh that turns to fog in the cold air. She follows the doctor's stagnant gaze, tugging at her jacket, an entirely new question burning at the tip of her tongue. "Who's that?"

"Well… he's..."

"Who? Is he your friend at work? Mom says you help dead people. Does he help dead people too?"

 _No, he just creates them._

"No... he's... uhm."

Charly tilts her head to the left, all wide-eyed curiosity. To lie to her would feel like the ultimate betrayal‒ even if Charly never figured the truth. A lie is a lie, no matter the circumstance. She can't make herself even begin one. She takes Charly's little hands from her face and holds them in her own. "He's my father, baby."

The word sounds foreign on her tongue. Father. She had a father‒ one she thought was amazing and looked up to as if he hung the stars above. One who despised every part of her. One who stole away in the night with her mother. The one who made her hurt.

But not anymore.

She shakes her head as if to dislodge the thought. Now is not the time to feel sorry for herself. There's no point. This man is _not_ his replacement. He's not going to just walk into her life and give her years of laughter and happy moments back. That's not how it works.

That's not who he is.

Her father, the murderer. She cannot let herself forget.

...

The doctor doesn't move, doesn't dare tip the balance. On some level, she knows she wants to see him. To demand the answers she has been shorted all her life.

 _Why did you give me to them?_

 _Where have you been?_

 _Did you think about me at all?_

 _...who is my mother? Is she alive?_

Charly tugs at her hands, urging her to stand. The child doesn't understand what it means to get up. To cross the playground. To take that step.

"Sophie," she calls. They need to leave. Talking to him won't justify the past. Won't give back all the lives lost because of him‒ the both of them.

He is a shadow of the past. A dark of memory. Nothing more. She just wants to move on.

"Sophie, come over here... please."

The child looks over in her direction and waves, "Hi, Doctor!"

"No, baby, I need you to come here." She stands and motions toward herself, trying to mask how frantic she feels. The doctor is accustomed to fear, but she knows how to be brave. Knows how to stand up and push back. Knows how to win.

But with him... With her father, she cannot win. There's no fight. She has no need for him in her life, and absolutely no desire for him to meet her girls. To know their names. To have the right to even look at them.

He is a murderer.

But so is she.

Her chest tightens at the thought. But it's not true. She has never killed anyone. It was _Her_. _She_ did it all. Her. But is that enough? Is relying on a technicality, a _grey_ area... Is it enough?

"Let's go, Sophie."

"Yeah, c'mon, Soph. You're _so_ slow! You're like a tortoise! Right, Doctor? Slow like a tortoise?" Charly asks, tugging on the bottom of her coat in the way only she knows how.

She breaks her eyes away from her father, trying to pick Charly's question out of the air. "You're absolutely right." She smiles a little, thoroughly impressed as well as temporarily distracted. "Where did you learn that?"

"I dunno. Prolly the show." The child's attention snaps back to her sister, "Sophie, _c'mon_. Don't be a snail!"

"Not a snail!" Sophie yells before disappearing down the slide, sending leaves flying through the air as she emerges at the bottom. She climbs out of the chute and runs to the Doctor's side. "See? That was super fast!"

"Nuh-uh. Too slow."

 _Okay... Okay... Okay.._

 _Go._

She holds her hands out to her sides, mimicking what she has seen Jane do in the past. And it works. Sophie and Charly automatically reach up and twist their fingers into her own. For them, it's a reflex. Something they do without any thought and that does nothing to hinder their light-hearted sibling argument.

To the doctor, it's so much more, but there isn't time to dwell. More than anything, they need to _get out_.

 _Options... Options..._

Naturally, there are two ways out of the park. One of which involves walking right past her father. Assuming he won't move is rather idiotic, but even an assumption so blindly stupid isn't much worse than the other way out. It's to the left and not at all far enough away from him. She cannot risk being stopped.

Trapped. Trapped in a park with a murderer, a man more dangerous than she wants to let herself believe.

"Doctor," Charly says, yanking on the material of her coat. Always pulling. "Doctor, why do you not like your dad?"

Sophie gasps, "What? Doctor! You have'ta love your parents! You have'ta!"

If she had an answer, it certainly wouldn't be one she'd share. They are too young to know the horrible secret of the world‒ some people are _not good._ A gross generalization that becomes too real as she feels his eyes on them.

She starts towards an exit, knowing full well the futility of her actions. He made the effort to see her. One way or another, he will do what he came here to do.

"Doctor? Doctor, I don't wanna go!" Charly protests, yanking at her arm in hopes of slowing the fretting doctor.

It doesn't work.

 _Please, Charly. Please, not now._

"Charly..." she trails off because she doesn't know how. How to do any of this. Avoid her father. Instruct a child. Move her feet.

"Doctor, look! Your dad! Look!" Charly points wildly with her free hand, "Hi, Doctor's dad!"

 _No. Stop!_

"Hi!" Sophie chimes in, completely unaware who they are calling over. Who they are inviting near them. He could be here to take her back to that house. To take her away from everything. To lock her back in that _goddamn_ room.

She won't go back.

She won't.

But she won't run either. No more running. No more cowering or hiding. It's never let her out on top, saved her‒ whatever she convinced herself to believe before, it's all wrong. Maybe this is her final battle.

"Nevermind, you can go play," she says to the girls. And without hesitation they take off for the colorful jungle gym, squealing and laughing all the way. Happy. Oblivious.

Across the way she sees him moving closer, probably sensing she won't run.

She won't.

She stands her ground.

…

.

 **Five Years Ago**

...

 _As a child, she tried to fathom infinity._

 _At twenty-six, she experiences it._

 _With the money from her adoptive parents' deaths, she buys herself a house. Not just any house, but one she is absolutely certain her mother would approve of. Upper-end with just enough class to make it a favorable location for the holidays_ ‒ _not that she has any inclination to host the sort of festivities her mother would have wanted._

 _She will go as far as a house, but no further than that._

 _But after two weeks of unpacking and settling, she grows restless in the house. There is just too much of it to keep track of. She misplaces things left and right_ ‒ _her medical journal, a perpetually unfinished copy of_ Jane Eyre _, her morning coffee_ ‒ _everything._

 _When she is not at work, the silence of her home drives her to keep moving. Something always needs cleaning, right? Even sitting alone she finds a way to make some sort of busy sound to keep herself occupied. She has learned the busier she is, the less the red girl chooses to surface._

 _It's a shaky hypothesis with a rather high fail rate, but if she could just keep dusting the bookshelves or sweeping the kitchen, maybe, just maybe **She** wouldn't take over. _

_Maybe._

 _Infinity is robotically knocking on your wooden end table, counting backward by composite numbers like it's an imperative chore._

 _Infinity is taking inventory of your pantry six times a day as if it's a normal thing to do._

 _Infinity is drinking espressos at three in the morning because you're so goddamn afraid of going to sleep and waking up somewhere else completely._

 _The doctor decides rather quickly that the infinite was a dream she should have let die long ago._

 _She is miserable._

…

..

 **Present Time**

...

"Maura."

She has never given much thought to her name before. Where it came from. _Who_ put in the thought behind it. Was there a reason? A story? She has never let herself wonder‒ maybe the thought was too unpleasant. Too hard to bear.

But the moment her name is introduced through his mouth, she just knows. He chose it. Not Constance. Not Arthur. But the solemn man before her, hard and cold. Evil.

He chose it.

On top of the apparatus to her left she spots, Charly watching him, as curious as always. The doctor can only imagine the child believes he is a kind man. Someone who will take her and her sister out for ice cream and be readily available to pick them up from school on the days the doctor can't get away from work.

He is not Angela.

She wants him nowhere near her children.

"I'm sorry," he says, though nothing about him changes to back his sincerity, she doesn't question it. He has no reason to lie to her. "There was no other way to reach you."

She takes a step backward, deciding distance is something she wants to hold onto. Nothing good could come from this.

"What about a phone?" Her words come out loudly, almost angry, even. On some level, she wonders where the sudden jolt of intensity came from. Even so, he has nothing to say to that. He's a criminal. Of course, he wouldn't use a phone to contact her. Of all the idiotic suggestions...

"You're alone?" she asks hesitantly. At least she can't see anyone like Sam, or the grunt-like men that no doubt follow him around everywhere like the henchmen in children's movies.

Another question left unanswered. She wonders if she should go for a third just to get a universally acceptable number of failures.

But before she can even try, she feels that telltale tug at the bottom for her coat. Charly. It's _always_ Charly. She was supposed to be playing. Keeping away. Staying safe. But instead, she has sneaked her way back into harm's way.

"What, _lucero_?"

Suddenly the world's boldest child hides behind her in an uncharacteristic act of shyness. The little thing only children seem to be able to pull off. The little girl wants something, yet asking seems to fluster her.

"They look just like her," he offers, but the both of them know that is not what he came here to say. She can only nod. He's right. They look as much like their mother as they do each other.

What does he want?

Her gloved fingertips meet the bottom of her pockets, so she curls them into fists, trying her best to keep her feet rooted. She feels compelled to pepper him with questions but is unbelievably unsure of where to even start. There is no beginning or end of her curiosity. The information she seeks is total in nature. The whole truth‒ something he could never give.

"Rizzoli... she," he starts, looking a little like he can't believe he is about to say the words. But at the mention of her name the doctor can't help but lean forward ever so slightly. She'd give anything just to know a little bit more about Jane‒ a new page in her slowly growing book. He sighs, "She was a good cop, you know that? Had a good head on her... I guess that's why it didn't take much for her to find me once she really started looking."

She doesn't understand why he's telling her this. Jane is good‒ she already knows this. God, she _knows_ this.

He glances over his shoulder, something the doctor recognizes immediately. He's afraid of something. Or maybe he feels vulnerable without some sort of unit following his around. Fleetingly, she wonders how someone would go about finding henchmen for hire‒ it occurs to her that that seems like the type of thing she would wonder about as a child, her mind so young and far too curious.

Curiosity never killed a cat, but instead a dog, a blue blood, and countless others.

He clears his throat, forcing her to acknowledge him again. She feels strung out and held in place like some insect stuck in a spider web. She wants to escape, but she can't find a way. Can't get free. Physically. Emotionally. _Whatever_.

"I don't want you to think she's got anything to do with me beyond what happened."

 _I know that._

 _I_ ** _know_** _that._

"Okay." She takes another step back, moving Charly with her. Her nerve slips more and more out of her grasp with each passing second. She wants to leave. To run. To hide.

But as she turns to go get Sophie, something in his voice stops her.

"Maura... wait. Please..." With this he takes a half step forward, a hand outstretched as if he thought for a moment he could simply reach out and grab her.

"Why are you here?"

The slight urgency splayed across his face sobers, and he returns his hand to its place inside his coat pocket. Just _looking_ at him is surreal enough. The man she's wanted to know all her life‒ he's right in front of her.

The twelve-year-old girl inside her wants to run to him. To latch onto him and never let go. To give him the chance to be the father he never was. The father she never had.

But the adult in her‒ no, the common sense in her‒ warns her to keep her guard up. She is a sentry. He will not tear down her fortress with his mere presence in her life. She may have been a lonely child, but she sure as hell doesn't need him now.

His jaw clenches and she trips into doctor mode. _He's in pain_. She can see it in his features. He's grimacing and reluctant to move his right arm.

"You're injured? You need my help, is that it?"

He nods, and by the way he doesn't meet her eyes, she thinks he is feeling a great deal of shame that he couldn't do something on his own. That he needed a doctor. That he needed his daughter.

She takes a moment to consider what she would be agreeing to. Inviting a killer into her home with her children _without_ telling Jane. And thinking of little Charly behind her or Sophie up on the apparatus, she can't help but pause for a moment and really think about the answer that has already solidified in her head. These are the kinds of decisions she was _never_ meant to make.

"Okay... Okay, come with me."

...

Forensic pathology comes with many disadvantages what with not being able to simply ask the deceased _what happened back there?_ But one great thing about working with a corpse: it can never lie to you.

Much unlike Paddy Doyle right now as she recalls just how different suturing the living seems to be. She wouldn't mind much, only he has _lied_ to her a total of six times already and he still seems to be going strong.

"What happened?" she asks again, pausing her small procedure. He refused any sort of anesthetic, deeming himself _tough enough to handle it._ Right.

"Just an accident," he grunts out, and it makes her want to poke her fingers into his eventual scar tissue. She already knows the truth, she's the Chief Medical Examiner for god's sake, she can spot a gunshot wound from a mile away.

"Doyle," she says, her voice tripping over his last name‒ her last name. It seems so unnatural. "It's unlikely this was an accident."

"Look, it was an accident, that's all." He is convincing, but she's a certified genius.

Because bullets are fired at point-blank range by accident all the time. Because men like Doyle are shot in the back _by accident_.

She could almost sigh. "I don't believe you."

The audacity of her words startles her in the sense that she never seems to speak in this way to anyone. Let alone someone who could end her life in three seconds flat. She is not that brave. Never. But there is something about this man that brings her a little comfort. Not like Jane or a safety blanket, but instead, the comfort of knowing her life isn't being threatened at the moment.

She will take what she can get.

He ignores her comment, pulling his bloodstained t-shirt back down, preventing her from finishing. She half-expects him to stand and threaten her to keep her mouth shut, and tell her that she doesn't have the right to know anything about him.

"Occupational hazard," he mutters as if that's enough of an explanation to answer her question. That could mean anything.

"Perhaps you should find yourself a new occupation," she retorts sharply, boldly, _uncharacteristically_. But seeing him bleeding in her kitchen seems to bring out a side of her that wants to smack him upside the head for not valuing his own life enough to watch his back.

Why should she care?

If he died, nothing would change for her.

So why does seeing him injured scare her so much? What does she feel the urge to look him in the eyes and tell him to be careful? Shouldn't she have some sort of aversion to him?

"You don't need to worry about me."

She opens her mouth to say something more, but the sound of floorboards groaning, no doubt beneath little feet clad in kitten slippers stops her. Sophie. As if on cue, the child peeks her head around the dividing wall, hoping to see a little more of the father the doctor is certain she does not love.

Biology has nothing to do with anything.

Except that's complete bullshit.

Because sometimes it does.

When the child catches the doctor's eyes, she tries to hide the fact that she sneaked out of her bedroom. That she came into the kitchen despite the warnings to stay in her room. It's a poor attempt, but the doctor's heart clenches anyway.

"Hey, baby, I don't want you in here right now with this mess. I need you to go back with your sister, okay?" She wonders when she took on this assistant principal tone of voice, and from the look on the child's face, she realizes that Sophie has noticed the change as well.

Her phone buzzes on the island, but she's a bit compromised at the moment. Before she even has to ask, Sophie grabs it and presses it to her little ear.

"Doctor's phone." They had practiced that. If she couldn't make it to her phone, Jane taught them how to answer it just in case it was an emergency. "Oh, hi Mama... No, Doctor can't talk to you... She has blood on her hands... No, Charly's okay. Uh, I think she's playing... Uh-huh... Yeah... Yeah... No, her dad is here..."

The doctor sighs. This proverbial cat seems to be indestructible. It survived its own curiosity as well as being trapped in a bag for god knows how long. Now it's out and roaming free.

Jane will not take well to this.

...

He lets her finish closing up his wound once Sophie disappears down the hall, and she realizes rather quickly that he is a man of very few words. The suffer in silence type. The kind that doesn't notice the awkward weight in the air at all, or if he does, he simply doesn't care.

So she makes quiet, meticulous work of tying off the stitches and dressing the wound. There are so few distractions she finishes just minutes later, forgetting about him almost completely as she loses herself in the methodical process of sterilizing and packing away her medical kit.

She isn't aware he is watching her until he actually speaks, his voice so low and quiet she almost misses it:

"You look like her."

"What?" She knows exactly what he means... She just wants him to _say_ it.

"Your mother," he says, shoving his hands back into his jacket pockets like he doesn't want to touch anything around him. Maybe that's a habit that comes with taking lives. "She used to do that."

"Do what?"

"Lose herself in her work like that..." he shakes his head at some memory known only to him. "Sometimes I... sometimes I had to remind her to stop for a minute and breathe. She'd get so into her work."

For a moment, they stand there in a slightly strangled silence, neither one with strong enough social graces to know what to say‒ or what _not_ to say. She opens her mouth twice to add something, but both times the words die out on her tongue. What could she say? It's not as if this happens regularly. It's not as if she invited him here under the pretense of getting answers. He needed help. That's all.

"I should go... thank you." And with that as his only farewell, he turns and starts out. Just like that. Her one chance foiled because she wouldn't dare be impolite for even a moment.

Not only is she let letting the chance for her own answers fall through her fingers, but also the final fate of Detective Crowe. What became of him. What happened the day he was taken. Everything. She would take the burden of knowing over the emptiness of uncertainty any day.

"Wait!" she hurries after him, automatically side-stepping the toys she knows to be occupying the middle of the entryway courtesy of a certain little Rizzoli.

"Please, wait!"

...

It should be easy.

Just ask. Formulate the question she has been obsessing over for weeks, and just ask him. It should be easy.

But for some reason, it isn't.

Maybe there is a part of her that doesn't want to know. That doesn't want to bear the burden of keeping his fate a secret from his friends. She could come clean, but where would that leave her? Who would believe such a twisted account?

It belongs in a storybook‒ a tale of Dickensian proportions, but with a twist:

Sometimes there is no right thing to do.

Sometimes it's not that simple.

...

His silence alarms her.

And for a moment, she sees the softness in his eyes fade. For a moment, she fears the translucent thread between them will sever. Then suddenly, gruffly: "Maura... I have nothing to do with that."

"But I thought... When I..." her hands move out in front of her as she stumbles over her words. "When Crowe was going to tell me about Jane? The power went out, and your men... They took us."

Amidst her struggle to piece together something sensical, she notices his jaw clenching again. Only this time not from the pain in his shoulder, but from the anger that seems to deepen the lines in his face. They were both taken that night, right? _It only makes sense..._

"Who were they?" Intense. Concise.

"I... I don't know. I didn't hear their names... I... I..."

 _I killed them._

"I didn't mean to hurt them," she offers, but it feels useless. "I know they were just listening to your orders."

The less he says, the more she feels like disappearing into herself. She drops her gaze to the floor and wraps her arms around herself to keep from fidgeting. Not matter how hard she tries, her mother's words are never far from her, warning her to be the perfect girl she was raised to be. Even now.

 _It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay._

"Maura," he says, but it's his hand on her shoulder stat seems to jumpstart her heart. "Maura listen to me."

When she looks up, the intensity in his eyes is enough to make her flinch away. To make her pull out of his reach so frantically, her back connects solidly with the wall of the entryway.

"Maura‒"

She closes her eyes, bracing for some sort of impact. For the pain she can almost already feel. But it never comes. Instead, it's his words that nearly knock her legs from beneath her.

"‒I never told anybody to take you."


	20. Cicadas

_It's done, it's over, unsealed and free._

 _._

Uncertainty is cumbersome.

The doctor finds herself capsized as she watches her father stalk out into the darkness, leaving her without a goodbye. A ship with no will to fight. The doctor lost her white flag years ago. After she had dragged it through the earth stained with the blood of a man she never meant to kill.

" _I'll be back."_

Inside her blood pulses through her arteries, reoxygenated and pressurized with adrenaline that seems to have sprung from nowhere. Her fingers shake with it.

"‒ _I never told anybody to take you."_

Months ago, somebody stole her. Somebody knocked the consciousness right of her, bound her wrists and ankles, and locked her in the back of a van. Somebody who didn't know her body was not her own. Somebody who wasn't her father, wasn't his men. Somebody who was unaware this small, unassuming doctor was only a vessel for an evil strong enough to move mountains.

She clasps her hands together and grits her teeth. _But who?_

...

Jane shoves her key into the lock, yelling her name from the doorway once she pushes inside. "Maura? Where are you?"

The doctor stands, nerves still buzzing beneath her skin like bugs. "I'm here."

Jane rounds the corner, eyes serious, stance defensive. "Where is he? Is he still here?"

"No…" she says to Jane who is doing anything but listening to her. Instead, she is checking the windows to make sure they are locked, peering out to the street as if spotting Paddy Doyle is that simple. "He's long gone by now."

And suddenly, there are hands on her shoulders that slide down her arms in a reflexive check for injuries sustained in her absence. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she shrugs out of Jane's grasp. "Jane, _listen_ to me."

Brown eyes level with hers, clear and attentive. Undivided. "Okay."

...

The doctor clutches the girls to her sides, listening to the low thrum of Jane's voice in the kitchen. She has been on the phone for over an hour, each second of it pushing the doctor closer and closer to something she has no words for. Something she can't name.

There is no red girl to save her from collapsing into herself.

There is no red girl to burn away her anxiety like kindling.

There is no red girl at all.

 _How will I survive?_

 _No._

 ** _No_**.

 _You will survive by Charly._

 _By Sophie._

 _By Jane._

 _By love of adventure and life. Knowledge and family._

 _You will survive by the palms of your hands and the bravery hidden within the hollows of your bones. You are free. You are_ _ **going to**_ _survive without_ _ **Her**_ _._

 _You **are**._

And when the girls begin to grow heavy against her sides, she gently wakes them and carries them to their bedroom one at a time. She doesn't know the hour, but it must be late. Jane is still on the phone trying to contact Doyle or Sam or _anyone_ who might know anything.

A word that comes to the doctor's head as she kisses her daughters' foreheads is _futile._

Jane is searching for answers she will never find.

…

.

 **4 Hours Ago**

...

"‒ _I never told anybody to take you."_

 _The doctor freezes, senses robbed. She feels his hand clamp onto her shoulder, pale eyes drilling into her own. "Tell me what you remember about them. Anything."_

" _I… I…" she screws her eyes shut, trying and trying but there's nothing. No faces. No tattoos. **Nothing**. "There were two of them."_

" _And? What else? Anything, Maura."_

 _Frustration prickles down her back. She feels his hand lift slowly, but it does nothing to help her. There's just nothing there. An empty file. A blank photograph. Nothing. "I… I_ _ **can't**_ _."_

" _I have a lot of enemies, Maura. They won't think twice about killing you if it will get to me."_

 _She thinks for a moment, "There was a van. An old one… Blue, I think. I'm sorry, that's all I know."_

" _Okay," he says, heading for the door._

" _Wait!" she says, reaching outward. "What about Detective Crowe? He's still missing."_

 _He gives her a hard look, "My guess, they only took him because he was a witness… Maura, I don't think you need me to tell you he's dead by now."_

" _I_ ‒ _"_

" _I'll be back."_

…

.

 **Present Time**

 **Three Days Later**

...

And he does come back.

The doctor finds him in her kitchen, eating an apple at the island, comfortable as if he belonged there all along and _she_ was the one who was trespassing.

"How did you get in?"

"Key under the planter."

She glances over her shoulder at the dark hallway. She had put the girls to bed early so she could have a quiet evening with Jane. Now she understands that her night no longer belongs to a couple boxes of Thai food and a movie with the woman she loves, but now to her father and his cloud of dark.

"Where is she?"

"Getting takeout." She points to his shoulder, "May I?" He only grunts. She takes it as affirmation and waits as he shrugs off his jacket and pushes the sleeve of his t-shirt back.

She changes the gauze and checks to make sure there's no risk of infection, finding herself caring for this man just as she would a stranger or a best friend. "You're lucky," she says, "it's healing well."

"Good to know," he says with a chunk of green apple in his mouth.

 _Okay, okay, okay._

"Is there a reason you're here?"

"Told you I'd be back, didn't I?"

"Yes, but‒"

He slides his coat back on, mirroring the November chill outside. "Someone's after me. Rizzoli needs to know that."

The doctor sighs and turns to go back to the living room. "Never one for a phone, are you?"

"I like to do my business in person."

As hard as she tries, she cannot find it in herself to hate this man. A killer. A criminal. Her father. A man who hired someone to protect her from dangers she didn't know existed outside of fiction. Whether she wants it or not, he cares.

"She'll be back soon. Just… stay in here." _Stay away from_ _ **my** __family._

He nods in understanding but doesn't say anything more. Like the doctor herself, he is of few words. A man of stoic silence. And despite herself, she trusts that he will honor her wishes and fade into the background. Let her live the life she wants.

"I'm sorry."

She stops in the doorway, fingers pressed to her palms. "What?"

"I left you with them."

"I don't understand." She turns around and searches for something in his face to give her a clue. A hint. Anything.

"They didn't treat you right, and I just watched it happen… I thought you were better off with them… thought they could love you enough… They couldn't. You didn't deserve that, and I'm sorry."

Hollow. Her insides have vanished, leaving her an empty shell, sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Her heart beats somewhere in the air above her father's head. She can feel it, hear it. Her eyes snap toward it, catching the rustling of some leaves just outside the window.

More movement catches her eye. Too much movement. Something glints behind the glass.

"What's wrong?" he asks, serious, standing. "Maura, what‒"

The window erupts.

….

Cold air swamps her, flecked with shards of glass. The doctor feels herself pulled to the floor. She tries to climb to her feet, but the hand on her back keeps her planted.

"Stay down," he whispers harshly. She glances up at him through the hair fallen over her face. "Don't move."

"Where are you going?"

He doesn't answer. He only crouches and moves along the wall to the back door. Looking back at her as he reaches for the doorknob with one hand and for his gun with the other. His eyes sear a final warning into the irises of her own: _Stay here. Stay alive._

...

The doctor cannot move from the kitchen floor. The calcium seems to have evaporated from her bones, leaving them soft. Too weak to be everything she needs them to be.

 _No._

She thinks of the girls tucked away in their room, oblivious to the danger lurking just outside. The sky blue walls interrupted by two large windows. Her heart springs into her throat, yanking her upward.

 _No. No. No._

 _Not them. Notthemnotthem._

She feels it then, coiling through her veins. Potent and biting. Her cells are roaring like lions, pushing her to her feet, urging her: _go! GO!_ It builds within her, loud and uncalculated. She wants to scream. To release the energy enveloping her, hauling her out of the kitchen by the waist like the pull of a thick rope.

The living room is dark. The doctor cannot see a foot in front of her face. Her body is alive, screeching and rumbling so loudly she feels faint. Dizzy and confused.

Something is _wrong_.

Not her father. Something _else._ This feeling, she knows it‒ a taut string humming with the promise of that fatal _snap._ She has felt it before, only now there is no red girl to warn her. No red girl to save her from the tipping point. The edge of infinity.

 _Danger. Danger. Danger._

"Maura." A whisper. She spins around in the darkness, nerves ablaze. Deteriorating. "Maura."

"Who are you?"

"Maura."

She feels her thigh bump into something solid. An end table. She throws both her hands towards it, nearly knocking the lamp to the floor as she switches it on.

Dim light floods the room casting the owner of the voice out of the shadows.

Shock sears down the doctor's spine. "D-Detective Crowe?" She stares in disbelief, but there he is, leaning against the wall just below the TV that was playing cartoons for the girls just hours earlier.

"Maura," he says again, and that is when she notices his hair is caked in what she is willing to guess is the same blood that is dripping down the side of his face. His left eye is nearly swollen shut with darkened skin, but this man is clearly still alive and breathing.

"How did you‒"

"Maura!"

She reaches a hand out towards him, partly controlled by the doctor within her in the presence of a patient, but mostly still unconvinced he is truly there.

"You're injured, let me help you."

Anger flashes across his mangled features, but before the doctor can withdraw, she is staring down the shiny barrel of his service pistol held in hands full of broken fingers.

"Wh‒"

"Shut up!" he spits, eyes feral. Deranged. "Just _shut up!"_

Her skin burns all over as inky black fear dribbles into the spaces her bravery once lived.

"Do‒ Goddammit!" his hands are shaking. He looks just seconds away from collapsing. "Do you know what I had to do to get out of there?" His words blend together, some muffled in his swollen lip.

"Do you know what they did to me in there?"

She shakes her head but doesn't dare speak. Not when he holds her life in his hands.

"Of course, ya don't." He drops one hand from the gun and uses it to gesture almost wildly. The doctor flinches as the firearm settles back onto her. "'Course this whole time I thought they had you too. I thought they were hurtin' you like they did me. Took some time, but I waited until they made a mistake. I killed them all, Maura. They weren't gonna hurt you anymore. I was gonna save you…"

 _Okay. Okay._

" _But_ ," the word is like hot coals or pools of lava, "you weren't there. I couldn't find ya anywhere. Thought they killed you, Queenie." His use of her nickname makes her skin twitch. There is no affection in his tone. No softness.

Out of breath, he pauses for a moment, the look on his face giving away nothing. The doctor can feel tiny pinpricks across her chest. Anticipatory. Her body is screaming _run_ , but it's simply not an option.

He steps closer to her, and she flinches. "I came here to see if maybe you escaped. Or they let you go." Another step. She feels a hand clamp around her shoulder. "Imagine my surprise when I find you here. With _him._ "

 _NO!_

It wasn't Doyle. She wants to scream at him. Her father is not responsible for this.

"Then it all made sense. Though no one would believe it." She feels the bite of the barrel pressed into her neck. His breath his hot against the side of her face. "You didn't escape from them, you're _one_ of them."

 _No!_

Something ignites inside her chest, fuelled by the assumption and allegation in the air. "No, that's not‒"

"Isn't it? All those autopsies you performed on those victims? You found evidence, didn't you? But you couldn't let the cops catch him, could ya? Someone had to replace that crooked Dr. Pike, take his job after he slipped up… I guess that was you, Queenie. You're no better than the grunts that tied me up."

 _Dr. Pike…? That night in the parking garage… the re-autopsies._

" _I'm afraid that's the least of my worries, Dr. Isles._ _ **These people, they are… inclined to get what they want**._ _"_

"Why'd you do it, Maura? Huh? Wasn't for the money, nuh-uh. Did he threaten you, it that it?"

 _No. No. No. Nononono. NO!_

Anger shakes the doctor's hands.

All her life, she has been governed by fear. The red girl. Her adoptive father. Her school teachers. Little old ladies in supermarkets. Men using the cover of the night to corner her. She has cowered. Hidden. Run away. Beaten herself into this timid creature.

The doctor is _tired._

She has decades of fire in her bones.

...

She throws her elbows backward with all her might, one landing hard enough to knock the wind out of him. The gun clatters to the ground. His arms loosen and she stumbles from his grasp.

And she's running with everything she has until she realizes he has a handful of her t-shirt. He yanks her back with so much force she sees stars. Despite herself, her knees give out. How foolish she was to think she could ever fight. She is a victim. Prey. No amount of bravery can change that.

He stands above her thinking what he is doing is justice. That she is evil, and he might be right. Maybe her death would send her father into the shadows so deep, he would never resurface. Maybe everything would somehow fall back. She can't fight it, so she might as well just give‒

 _ **Stop**. _

_You have an entire world waiting for you._

 _You have two daughters and you have Jane._

 _You can't leave them. They need you._

 _Fight for them._

 _You **have** to._

...

She pretends to be dazed, but she sees it. Just beneath the coffee table. Silver and black and lethal. But she needs a distraction. _Anything._

He believes her ruse.

"I get why you were perfect for the job, Queenie," he says, smirking down at her. He doesn't seem to notice her hand inching toward the coffee table. "Look at you. You couldn't hurt a fly. Had me fooled. Guess I can't feel bad 'cause ya fooled everyone. Jus' wish you weren't so damn pretty, it'd make this a whole lot easier on me."

He reaches for the gun in the waistband of his pants but comes up empty. "What the hell‒"

Her hand closes around the handle, and faster than he can even register, she has it pointed up at him. Trained on his chest. Hands quaking with adrenaline.

She pulls the trigger.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

But nothing happens. Just three disparaging clicks and a whole lot of nothing.

He snatches the gun from her hands, smirking like he's won. And he has. The doctor is out of options. There's no way out. She braces herself, hands clamped tightly over her ears. She calls for Jane, her father, the red girl. Anyone to save her.

She screws her eyes shut.

 _Please! Please help me!_

The world explodes.

...

…

…

…

Her ears don't work.

There is a buzzing like cicadas in the summertime. She opens her eyes slowly, hesitant and afraid of where she might be.

But she recognizes her bedspread. Her dark wood floors. Her home.

And she recognizes the fingers threaded through her hair, the scent of lavender and laundry detergent. Looking up, she sees Jane's mouth moving, but the words themselves are lost in the white noise.

She flexes her hands out in front of her, moving one bloodstained finger at a time. She counts her heartbeats and tries out a few deep breaths.

In her own professional, medical opinion, she is alive.

 _But Crowe… and Doyle…?_

She presses her fingers to her temples. The doctor _knows_ they were here. That much she did not imagine.

"It's okay," Jane's voice transudes through the noise. Soft like a beginning. "You're okay."

Jane's face changes above her, cast in red, then blue and back again. She smiles sadly down at the doctor as the static in the air fuses into a familiar pattern. One she never thought she would be opposite. One she thought would always be on her side.

The sirens. The crackle of radios.

"Where is...?" her words stick in her throat.

"He turned himself in. He... shot Crowe... and by then it was too late," Jane whispers, and all she can do is close her eyes and nod once because no one ever taught her how to feel like this.

A knock on the door tightens the fingers threaded in her hair. Frost sticks his head in, but his eyes never make it any higher than the floor. "Jane... it's time."

 _no..._

 _No. No. No. Nonononononono._

"Jane, no. What are you doing?" the doctor sits up, fingers curling desperately into Jane's t-shirt. "Please, don't–"

Jane shakes her head, and the doctor falls silent, instead she clings to her, trembling like _don't you leave me. don't you dare leave me._

"Your father and I... we have an understanding," she whispers. "He's going to tell them what he did to me. Says he won't confess to anything else until they get me a deal, okay? But it might take a little while."

The doctor nods against her chest, pulling at the fabric of her shirt until Jane wraps her arms around her one last time.

"Take care of our girls, okay?"

And with that, Jane untangles herself from the doctor's arms and follows Detective Frost down the hall, out the front door, and into the back of a police cruiser.

 _"It's okay."_

 _"You're okay."_

 _"Go. I'll handle this."_


	21. Epilogue

**Eighteen Months Later**

...

Alone in her study, she runs her finger over the cryptic words scribbled out at the top of the small package in fading permanent marker.

" _The truth takes time."_

She feels a surge of bitterness. Sour purging her cells because of all times, _now_. Now that she can stand without the toppling claim of vertigo. Now that she can look into the mirror and _see_ herself bright and alive. How come now she's getting the truth after years of grasping at straws? After years of needing something; _any_ semblance of _anything_ to hold onto? After a lifetime of needing answers just to try to piece together an identity, she gets a beacon of hope just as she doesn't need it anymore? Just as she has found herself and a family and a _life_ one million times brighter than anything her father could give?

She has half a mind to just throw it out. No mysterious package could change the way she feels when Jane tosses a smile across the room. Or when Sophie reaches for her hand when they cross the street. When Charly runs right off the soccer field in the middle of the game to give her a high-five.

But there is another part of her that cannot move from this spot. Before her, in that tiny box is an opportunity for crushing disappointment or for the closure she's been looking for since as long as she can remember.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows her father will not try to contact her again. It's what she wanted. However, she did not anticipate this coldness in her chest. The ache to see him each time she goes out grocery shopping or for a walk through the park. The deep pain in her chest when she remembers he put himself behind bars _for her._

 _No._

 _This is how it should be._

 _This is best._

 _It_ _ **is**_ _._

In truth, she knows that whatever is in this box will stay with her for as long as her father intended. And she needs to find a way to be okay with that.

She reaches for the package.

"Doctor?" The door swings open. She shifts her arms instead to embrace the child.

"Sophie," she says quietly into the child's hair, "are you alright?"

Sophie nods against her shoulder, small hands resting against her ribcage. There is a long pause before the child sits up, brown eyes clear yet unbelievably inexpressive.

"Charly says you're not Doctor o'more."

"I see."

"She says it's 'cause you don't go to work, so you can't be Doctor."

"Well," she sighs and shakes her head. Two days after the death of Detective Darren Crowe, she turned in her letter of resignation. Once a week since then, she's been seeing a therapist but has yet to reveal the true events of that dark night two years ago. She just _can't_ talk about it. Any of it. Not even with Jane. "I'm still a doctor, Sophie. I just don't have a practice at the moment."

 _And it is doubtful I will find the will to return._

The child nods and squirms back to her feet. "That's okay. You don't have to be Doctor. You can‒"

"Doctor! Doctor!" Charly interrupts, smacking her little hand against the door twice. Jane scoops her off her feet before she can try for a third. "Doctor, we're gonna watch a movie! C'mon!"

"Yeah, we are. Why don't you go set it up, you little monster," Jane says, letting Charly down. "You too, Soph."

When the familiar sound of the girls' bickering starts up in the living room, Jane rolls her eyes but lets it slide. She takes a step into the study and shoves her hands into her pockets.

She eyes the boxes stacked all over the room labeled things like _Maura's books, Maura's crazy-expensive telescope,_ and _More Maura books._ Exoneration really seemed to bring out her cheeky side.

"You sure you don't need any help with these." _because we moved over a year ago, and you haven't unpacked a thing._

"Jane…"

"I know, I know," she holds her hands up and smiles. "I'm about to sit through like an hour and a half of talking chipmunks, so if you feel like joining us, we'll save you some popcorn."

"Oh, you better." She laughs a little, and it feels good, great. Amazing. "I'll be right there. I just… there's something I need to do first."

...

She takes a deep breath once she hears the muffled sound from the movie in the living room, and before she can fall into overthinking, she pulls open the side of the box.

A tape slides out.

The kind she used to record her autopsy notes with in college. There's nothing written on it except a date: _Oct - 24 - 76_. Just a few months after she was born. She wraps her fingers around it tightly as she begins to dig through the boxes around her for the old tape player she is certain she packed before the move.

...

Twenty minutes later, she finds herself in Jane's old truck pushing the tape into the player on the dash. The tinny sound system crackles, but she can make out the low thrum of voices.

She adjusts the volume.

Her chest clenches as she recognizes the voice of her father and a woman. Her mother.

" _Oh, Patrick! You're scaring her!"_

" _No, I'm not. Look at her. She's smiling."_

Soft laughter carries through the speakers, swirling around her. She shuts her eyes and tucks it away inside herself.

" _She is! Oh, Miss Maura, is your daddy being silly?"_

" _No, she just knows who her family is."_

White noise drowns her parents out for just a moment. She feels the tears pricking at her eyes and clogging her throat. This tape. This is all she will have.

" _Hey, wait. Where are you going?"_

" _I have to go. Here, take her. I'll be back soon."_

" _But… Patrick, you just_ ‒ _"_

" _Don't worry. I talked to my father. He's going back to Chicago once he's done here. He doesn't need me there… It'll be just like we talked about, okay?"_

" _Pat_ ‒ _"_

" _Don't worry. It's almost over… Hope…"_

She drops her head into her hands. She. has. a. name. She has a mother with a name and a voice and a laugh and…

Hope.

She can hear footsteps on the recording and movement. Like walking. Walking away. And in the very background just barely, _"Patrick, wait."_

" _Patrick, please! Patrick!"_ Panicked. The doctor sits upright, heart thudding in her ears. The baby starts to wail.

" _What's wrong?"_

" _Take her. Take her!"_

The baby screams.

" _Hope, listen to me. You need to breathe, okay? What's wrong."_

" _It's_ _ **Her**_. _It's_ _ **Her**_. _**Her**_."

" _Maura? What's wrong with her?"_ he is shouting, frantics escalating the volume of the recording. _"Is she alright?"_

" _Not Maura._ _ **Her**_. _It's red."_

A strip of fire ignites along her spine. No no nonono. It's not possible. She wants to yank the tape free and unspool its insides. Then gut it like the lie that it is because it's. not. possible.

" _Please, not again. Hope, I can't…"_ the baby screams again, clipping the speakers. _"I thought this was over!"_

" _NO!"_

" _Hope. please."_

" _NO! NO! AWAY!"_

A loud crashing noise blasts through the truck. The doctor waits, but there's nothing. Only the hum of the engine and the sobs that escape her.

...

She is unsure of how long she stays in the truck. Could have been just minutes after she collects herself. But more likely that not, by the time Jane pulls the door open and lifts her out, it's been hours.

She just barely holds the tape in her hands. What would it matter if she lost it at this point? Dropped it? Pitched it into the darkness? She pushes it into Jane's hand. "Please."

Jane nods, silently understanding to save her from herself. She presses a kiss to her forehead.

…

.

 **Another Six Months Later**

...

One night smack in the middle of September, the small family crowds the kitchen. The smell of the third batch of cookies baking fills the air, masking the acrid scent of the first two batches banished to the trash.

The girls are loud and happy and beautiful: Charly smashes a ball of dough with her fists while Sophie delicately sprinkles flour all over the counter‒ and maybe just a little in her sister's hair.

Most days are bright like this. Lightness and smiles. Normality. Days she can lean against Jane's shoulder and count the inches the girls sprout as the months pass. Days she can feel the sun on her face like a beacon of freedom.

Good days.

Rare are the days the doctor is swept up in a dark torrent, stuck in her study, tearing through boxes looking for that tape. That cursed object she made Jane promise to hide from her. Days she can't tell the sun from the moon‒ it makes her dizzy to try and guess.

Those are the gone days.

But the doctor can feel herself healing. Slowly. Gently. But thoroughly and surely. And as she watches Jane and the girls stuff their faces with chocolate chip cookies, she feels a little closer to that golden light.

Her life, her family.

Beautiful. Whole. No monsters or red girls. No ice picks or smoking guns. Only broken scalpels and chipped detective badges. Twin comets and stars and a woman who shines brighter than the sun.

The doctor walks into the light.

* * *

.

 _We were kindred spirits, once pulled apart on an atomic level. I thought that because you reminded me of myself, you were my safety. A promise.  
I didn't realize that my toxicity, the poison on my lips and in my veins, was yours too. You weren't my home. You were the dangerous part of me, all edges and no empathy._

 **I fell in love with my own monster, multa-paucis**


End file.
